“You haven’t written anything today?”
“No, not a dot.”
Annabel was stood over me much like a preying mantis. “And yesterday?”
“Job applications. It’s similar to writing about a fictional self but in a less fun way.”
Her arms were hunched together and she was long in the legs. This, I’ve noticed over time, has become a fun feature of having a pretend girlfriend. I can change how she looks. Even make her eyes jut out and skin green. Thinking of it she’s becoming more preying-mantis-like by the second.
“So what else have you done?” Her head swivelled away, appraising the lounge room for evidence of effort.
“I did the dishes.” My voice desperate, aware that the landscape held nothing of constructed value. “In the kitchen.”
Annabel didn’t look towards the kitchen. She looked down at me. “What else?”
“Handed in a resume, hurt my back – I don’t know how, and organised the files on the computer. It’s saved some hard-drive space.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Her lips smacked together and the mantis form evaporated into the general female presence Annabel usually assumes. “And this is helping how?”
“Right now? This part this, or another part of this?” Into her hand appeared a plank of wood shaped bat. “Oh, you mean the general running of daily life this. It’s an accumulative effect. You wont notice it, but things will get better.”
From a position high over my head the bat evaporated and Annabel’s vague female presence solidified into a face above a body. Clothed of course. I am slightly prudish.
“I’m only trying to help, Dean. You got to help yourself some times.”
“That’s what I have been doing. Look, 291 words. That’s not much, but it is a start.”