Coffee Time In the Common Room

I looked up from my coffee mug to see one of my office mates — a native of Gloucestershire, England — peering at me intently.

“You know what?” she asks the room.

“What?” we all say.

“I’ve decided,” she said, still peering at me, “that I do like the Canadian accent.”

I snorted.

“You do, eh?”

I’ve been sitting here for a little under an hour.

Thinking.

Thinking about what to write. What I can write.

Nothing. I’m getting absolutely nothing.

Everything in my head is a mess. Like someone put my brains into a Cuisineart and pressed the purée button.

Mush. That’s all I’ve got.