I stare accusingly at the blank page in front of me. It doesn’t flinch, but returns my glare with the knowing mockery of one who has engaged in this battle of wills many times before only to emerge triumphant.

“Damned if I’m going to be beaten by a glorified scrap of wood pulp,” I mutter to myself, oblivious to the irony that I am succumbing to its challenge by raising the stakes.

The empty page doesn’t dignify this with a response. Instead it continues to flaunt its unblemished face while mine grows increasingly furrowed by the effort of remaining in this unequal contest.

“To hell with planning!” I cry, grasping my pencil with what I hope is a keen sense of purpose. I move to sketch a bold line, firm right up to the last moment of failing nerve. I hesitate; I am lost. My nemesis sits untouched.

At this point I would usually resign, metaphorically topple my king and step away from the field of combat. But not today. With the vow, “Today will be different!” echoing in my mind I take up arms and head once more unto the breach.

“Aha! Got you!” rings out. I raise my arm in victory as I regard the new mark adorning my erstwhile foe. Phlegmatic in defeat, the page simply accepts its fate without comment as I bask in the glow of success.