The Dealings and Misdealings of Ms. Sanaa

But you must believe me, my hand is poised over my imaginary piece of paper, clutching its imaginary writing utensil, about to actually draw a blank. It's almost like an oxymoron isn't it? To draw requires some sort of work, joules of energy. After all, "draw" is a verb and a verb is an action word. A blank on the other hand...according to dictionary.com, a blank when pertaining to a piece of paper is "having no marks; not written or printed on". No verb can be enacted upon my imaginary piece of paper, for it will be blank no longer. Sure it can be a blank and torn piece of paper or a blank, folded piece of paper, but it won't be just blank.

I put my imaginary writing utensil down and slide the imaginary paper away from me. I shall allow it to remain blank.

You know, the screams of terror and repetitive thumping up and down the stairs are only accentuating the pain in my head. I laugh all the same...my sisters and their friends running from my father who roars with every encounter.

I'd like to say some things about my father, for you most probably don't know much about him. He's a hard worker who does everything he can for us. He braves through everything and spends the only time he has at the end of the day to talk to us and play with us. But there are moments, few and far in between, in which stress takes its toll. My father can become stern and say things not meant to be said, but I still understand. Without him, or anyone else dear to me for that matter, I wouldn't be complete. We need everything we find in a person, no matter the kinks or faults, for without them, would that person truly be a person to us?

I retrieve the blank paper and scrutinize it, waiting for something to magically appear. Nothing.