Ink from my ballpoint pen rolls down the page. The ambient humidity acting as a shield between the porous page and my words and thoughts. I'm reminded of the physicality of ideas, but my moment to navel gaze is interrupted by the chair beneath me. Its hard plastic is dull, obnoxious, and distracting. Pressing wretchedly into my sit bones, I can barely string two coherent thoughts together.

I pause, shut my eyes, and pull focus to the sound of blood rushing in my ears. If I focus hard enough, it becomes the sea, and I can almost feel its salty, fresh breeze. Sure the beach is a little stuffy today, but maybe this is just that kind of beach. Surely there's variety in beaches. This one is shielded on all sides by a ring of palm trees muting the breeze. Even if I can't feel it, I can hear it just past the palm tree perimeter, and knowing it's there is refreshing in and of itself.

But beneath that soft, distant breeze I hear a faint ploop break through the treeline.

Opening my eyes, I look down to see the ink has run and drop drop dribbled on my white sneakers. My shoes take to the ink much more hungrily than the paper did.