One Hand on the BlackBerry, Fighting Myself

I unholster my BlackBerry and check the time. It’s 3:26 in the afternoon. I’m at work, staring at the screen and the few paragraphs that I have written so far. I go over my notes searching for what would logically come next. I find nothing.

I unholster my BlackBerry again. One new email. It’s junk, but I check it anyway. Apparently, the House of Magnets has a sale. Can’t figure out how I got on that email list. I return my gaze to the screen. Reread the same few paragraphs. Then I start to go over my notes again, when my hand instinctively reaches for the phone on my hip.

But this time I fight it. There’s no logical reason for me to look at my phone three times in just a few minutes. The BlackBerry has become my nervous tic when I’m looking for a reason to stall. For some reason that time is always a few paragraphs into a story. I need to focus. I have to finish this article and move on.

Maybe I have another email. It could be an important one. I wonder if it is 3:30 yet?

I fight it. But now I’m losing. My finger traces the leather case and l start to push the strap to the side, when …

“Hey Matt, I’m going downstairs to get coffee, wanna come?”

“Totally,” I spring to my feet and follow Tommy toward the door. “It’s that or work and who wants to do that?”