Alexa, How Much Time is Left?

The ominous question: Alexa, how much time is left?

You have one timer, with about 23 minutes left, she says.

Plumbing the depths and finding nothing but shallows this morning. It’s usually when I can’t come up with something to say that I know this exercise is essential. That habit is, as Octavia Butler said, “persistence in practice”; that it will sustain me when there’s nothing here and when there must be (not that anyone other than me cares if something new is written here—I began this project with that notion at the forefront).

Alexa, how much time is left?

You have one timer, with about 15 minutes left.

Perhaps it is the remnants of fear induced by being surrounded by parents convinced that their child is the star of the show at my niece’s song-and-dance recital last night, a scene more foreign to me than Bradbury’s most outlandish excursions into the unknown, or the knock on the head from the bathroom cabinet door that splayed me out across the floor and sprung The Morkie into resuscitative action. This is what I will tell myself, anyhow.

Alexa, how much time is left?

You have one timer, with about two minutes and forty seconds left.

(Stares at the screen…)

Alexa, how much time is left?

(TW)