Mondays and work. Tuesdays and work plus unfinished Monday’s work. Tomorrow would be much worse if I don’t finish these 3000 words today.I tried writing in the room. I had set out my PC on the wooden modern desk, sneakers placed beside it to reward myself at each completion of 1000 words and curtains drawn to allow the daylight’s liveliness do its works of inspiration. After writing two paragraphs for five hours, I gave up.I could not concentrate. My mind kept drifting to a certain striking man. Questions and scenarios of what could have been if I hadn’t deleted his number flooded me. Would I have called him? Was I right to have judged him as a playboy? If I’m to abandon this independent woman I had going on, would I be in his muscular arms now, relishing the season of love? The type of love that only appears in fiction.Now, as I sat on a chair in the barbecue spot, I read the paragraphs all over.‘He jumped on the b