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aspirin. She pops them into her mouth, swallows them dry, and walks back to the paneled great room. She curls up at one end of the sofa to watch the news and sip the tea.

Jingles, the cat, jumps onto the end table beside her, licks her arm and meows. It's the same routine every morning. Kacey knows a nip on the arm is coming if she doesn't get up and give the cat its due. She gets up and shuffles to the washroom. Jingles runs ahead of her and jumps on the dryer.

While Kacey pours the dry cat food, Jingles tries to eat, causing pellets to land outside the bowl. Some fall in the space between the washer and the dryer. "Good Lord, kitty. Be patient," Kacey says.

Kacey sets the bag of food on a shelf, pats the cat on the head, and meanders back to her cooling tea. As soon as she sits down, the phone rings. Kacey knows to ignore it, but answers anyway. "Hello?"

"Kacey, what're you doing? " It's an acquaintance, Rita, who calls everyday "just to talk."

"Not much, Rita," Kacey says. "Im planning to write all day today."

"Really," Rita says. "You're not going to believe what happened last night."

Kacey reclines on a pillow and braces herself for a long call.

"My ex decided to bang on my door at midnight. I wouldn't open the door, so you know what the idiot did? He broke a window and crawled in. I called the cops."

Kacey looks at the mantle clock and watches the minutes pass her by.

"My new mother-in-law has to be crazy," Rita says after the long story about her ex. "She thinks she's gonna tell me how to raise my kids!" The mother-in-law story steals several more minutes. Kacey can't get a word in.

"I lost 5 pounds this week," Rita says. "It wasn't that hard. Maybe you should try my diet."

"Maybe I should," Kacey says. She gets up to let the dog back in. Rita, the expert, tells her how to lose weight.

Tears flow from Kacey's burning eyes. She wipes them away with the neck of her night shirt. "Rita, I've got to go. I have stuff to do before I can write."

"My back's killing me," Rita says as if she didn't hear Kacey. 15 minutes later, Kacey blurts out, "Rita, I have to go."

"Oh," Rita says. "I'll call you later, or why don't you come over?" Kacey reiterates that she plans to write and says good-bye. The call ends just as co-hosts on "The View " begin their daily rant about the election.

Kacey decides to watch for a minute or two, get dressed, clean-up the house, wash the dishes, and run to the bank. She remembers her library books are due, too. Oh, and Pete needs coffee, so she might as well shop for groceries while at the store.

Her burning eyes grow heavy. She takes off her glasses, sets them on the end table, turns on her side, and faces the back of the couch.

"I want to be a real writer," Kacey whispers.

"You're not real," her inner-critic growls. "A real writer sticks to a schedule."

Kacey lets her eyes close. She's had enough.

"I'll get it together, as soon as I wake up."

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