48 Minutes
A writing experiment, which ended up being pretty fun.
48 Minutes
Music tinkles from the speakers by my computer, but I’m not really listening. To me it’s just background noise - an insulator to fill the silence. The quiet tapping of my fingers on the keys also helps fill the void, and I tap them lightly even when I’m not writing anything, enjoying the sound. I spelled the word ‘them’ wrong again. It always happens. Whenever I type a word beginning with ‘th’, I always end up hitting the ‘t’, and then my fingers will for some reason always hit the vowel before the letter ‘h’, so the word ‘them’ always ends up ‘tehm’. No matter. A quick right click of the mouse and it’s sorted. I do it with the word ‘the’ too, but the spellchecker on my computer automatically corrects it. It’s strange, but simply describing what I’m doing right now is oddly satisfying. I know there are plenty of other things that I should be writing (fanfics, homework ect) but I just can’t bring myself to concentrate to that extent.
I turn off the music to concentrate on the (spelled it t e h again - and I had to put spaces between the letters so that it won’t be automatically corrected - and I think it’s becoming a habit) sound of the tapping of the keys (tap tap tap), the spacebar interrupting the rhythm at irregular intervals. I know that one day if I end up working in an office or something the sound of keyboards will become more of an annoyance than a luxury, but for now I’m enjoying the fact that it’s quite entertaining.
There isn’t enough silence-defeating noise now, though, so I turn the music back on. Fleetingly, I wonder how many times this album will loop over the course of the evening, and how many times I’ll hear this song. Perhaps I’ll change the CD in a few minutes, and not hear it again at all today. Funny, I just spelled ‘hear’ as ‘heart’. I guess I’m just so used to thinking the word heart; I do love mentions of the heart, especially when it’s related to music.
Noticing the time (9:52pm) I decide to get changed into my pyjamas - it’s not like I’m going anywhere this evening, so I might as well be ready for bed for when I get tired. I pick up a few things up off the floor as I get up from my chair, and since I’m in a tidying mood, I clear away the books scattered across my bed, too. I’m about to move my violin case from the bed as well so I can straighten my crumpled duvet (orange, and covered with a pattern of red flowers. They remind me of sunflowers, but I know they’re not: the petals are too big), but my hand hovers over its black handle, itching to pull at the zips and reveal my much-loved instrument.
In the end, the temptation is too much, and I carefully open the case, staring longingly at the violin. I lift it out of its bed of green-grey velvet (all this time while writing ‘it’, I’m thinking ‘he’, because I decided the gender of my instrument a while ago) and lift it up to my chin. I don’t remove the bow from the case, as I can’t play out loud tonight - my little brother is asleep in his room down the hall and I don’t want to wake him. Instead, I hold the instrument lovingly in my arms, its wood - a vivid scarlet under any other light - shone a warm orange-brown against my crimson dressing gown. As the light from my electric lamp reflects of its body, I notice numerous fingerprints (no doubt all mine, even though others have also played it recently) scattered across its surface. Part of me smiles inwardly; the prints, along with the odd chip and imperfection add to the violin’s - my violin’s - character. But the other part of me, the part that had previously been in a tidying mood, decides the light would shine better off a spotless surface.
So I reach over to my bedside table and retrieve a small cloth from my glasses case, and gently use it to polish the violin. In the end my efforts are barely noticeable, and I know that by tomorrow there’ll be a myriad of fresh fingerprints after I practice, and there’ll once again be a white layer of powder by the bridge from my well-rosined bow, but despite this, I feel good. The process of running the soft cloth over my instrument was calming. In my relaxed mood, my eyelids begin to feel heavy, and I stifle a yawn. Perhaps I really should be thinking about getting ready for bed.
Grudgingly, I lay my violin back in its case and close the lid, bidding it goodbye for today. Then, after putting the case away, I finally change into my pyjamas like I’d planned to earlier and flopped down upon the soft orange covers of my bed. The pyjamas feel light in comparison to my thick blue jeans, but my body feels heavy, and the bed is so comfortable I feel I could just lie here forever doing absolutely nothing.
The gentle hum from the computer reminds me I left it on, so I get up to turn it off. Noticing this Word document still open on the screen, I quickly finish the last few sentences.
I click the X in the corner of my screen.
48 Minutes
Music tinkles from the speakers by my computer, but I’m not really listening. To me it’s just background noise - an insulator to fill the silence. The quiet tapping of my fingers on the keys also helps fill the void, and I tap them lightly even when I’m not writing anything, enjoying the sound. I spelled the word ‘them’ wrong again. It always happens. Whenever I type a word beginning with ‘th’, I always end up hitting the ‘t’, and then my fingers will for some reason always hit the vowel before the letter ‘h’, so the word ‘them’ always ends up ‘tehm’. No matter. A quick right click of the mouse and it’s sorted. I do it with the word ‘the’ too, but the spellchecker on my computer automatically corrects it. It’s strange, but simply describing what I’m doing right now is oddly satisfying. I know there are plenty of other things that I should be writing (fanfics, homework ect) but I just can’t bring myself to concentrate to that extent.
I turn off the music to concentrate on the (spelled it t e h again - and I had to put spaces between the letters so that it won’t be automatically corrected - and I think it’s becoming a habit) sound of the tapping of the keys (tap tap tap), the spacebar interrupting the rhythm at irregular intervals. I know that one day if I end up working in an office or something the sound of keyboards will become more of an annoyance than a luxury, but for now I’m enjoying the fact that it’s quite entertaining.
There isn’t enough silence-defeating noise now, though, so I turn the music back on. Fleetingly, I wonder how many times this album will loop over the course of the evening, and how many times I’ll hear this song. Perhaps I’ll change the CD in a few minutes, and not hear it again at all today. Funny, I just spelled ‘hear’ as ‘heart’. I guess I’m just so used to thinking the word heart; I do love mentions of the heart, especially when it’s related to music.
Noticing the time (9:52pm) I decide to get changed into my pyjamas - it’s not like I’m going anywhere this evening, so I might as well be ready for bed for when I get tired. I pick up a few things up off the floor as I get up from my chair, and since I’m in a tidying mood, I clear away the books scattered across my bed, too. I’m about to move my violin case from the bed as well so I can straighten my crumpled duvet (orange, and covered with a pattern of red flowers. They remind me of sunflowers, but I know they’re not: the petals are too big), but my hand hovers over its black handle, itching to pull at the zips and reveal my much-loved instrument.
In the end, the temptation is too much, and I carefully open the case, staring longingly at the violin. I lift it out of its bed of green-grey velvet (all this time while writing ‘it’, I’m thinking ‘he’, because I decided the gender of my instrument a while ago) and lift it up to my chin. I don’t remove the bow from the case, as I can’t play out loud tonight - my little brother is asleep in his room down the hall and I don’t want to wake him. Instead, I hold the instrument lovingly in my arms, its wood - a vivid scarlet under any other light - shone a warm orange-brown against my crimson dressing gown. As the light from my electric lamp reflects of its body, I notice numerous fingerprints (no doubt all mine, even though others have also played it recently) scattered across its surface. Part of me smiles inwardly; the prints, along with the odd chip and imperfection add to the violin’s - my violin’s - character. But the other part of me, the part that had previously been in a tidying mood, decides the light would shine better off a spotless surface.
So I reach over to my bedside table and retrieve a small cloth from my glasses case, and gently use it to polish the violin. In the end my efforts are barely noticeable, and I know that by tomorrow there’ll be a myriad of fresh fingerprints after I practice, and there’ll once again be a white layer of powder by the bridge from my well-rosined bow, but despite this, I feel good. The process of running the soft cloth over my instrument was calming. In my relaxed mood, my eyelids begin to feel heavy, and I stifle a yawn. Perhaps I really should be thinking about getting ready for bed.
Grudgingly, I lay my violin back in its case and close the lid, bidding it goodbye for today. Then, after putting the case away, I finally change into my pyjamas like I’d planned to earlier and flopped down upon the soft orange covers of my bed. The pyjamas feel light in comparison to my thick blue jeans, but my body feels heavy, and the bed is so comfortable I feel I could just lie here forever doing absolutely nothing.
The gentle hum from the computer reminds me I left it on, so I get up to turn it off. Noticing this Word document still open on the screen, I quickly finish the last few sentences.
I click the X in the corner of my screen.