Tuesday, June 2, 2015

500 Words, Day 13. The Prompt

For Day 13 of the #500WordsADay experiment via @KaleandCigarettes, we received a prompt:   

What would someone see if they looked through your window for 24 hours?  

I love this prompt because clearly I need encouragement to be more introspective and self-absorbed.  (lol winkie)   It reinforces the conspicuous feeling I have a lot of the time.   Surveying my space, watching myself, wondering how I’m coming across.  The phantom audience that is with me ALL THE FREAKING TIME.  So, yeah, resonance achieved.    

In the midnight hour
At midnight, you’d see me getting a burst of inspiration to create something despite the hour, sitting up in bed, tapping away on Chromebook.  In an hour or so, you’d see me succumb to sleep with the Chromebook still open and the lights still on.  (How that device has survived being rolled on while still open umpteen times would make a good commercial.)

Of course I must sleep at some point, but I don’t know what this would look like, although a private fear is that I’m a really weird sleeper and do all kinds of bizarre shenanigans like sit up and sing the national anthem with my hand over my heart or something in the night.

At five or so, you’d see me wake briefly to close the device and turn off the light.  You’d see me rummaging, panicked, under the covers or maybe under the pillow, for my phone, blinking blindly at the brightness of the screen, despite the fact that the room light was on until about three minutes ago.  You’d see me swipe “snooze” for the first of many, many times.

At six, you’d see me stumble to kitchen.  Pour coffee, drink coffee.  I don’t know whether waves of gratitude would be visible through a window, but there would be a moment for coffee pots with auto-brew, and another for the memory to set it up the night before.   You’d see breakfast and showers and morning routines.   A relaxed, pleasant energy between my son and me.    No, really!

At seven, you’d see me shut the door to my beautiful airy spacious neat apartment, my quiet peaceful space that creates harmony and fosters calm.  Another gratitude moment.  You’d see me open the garage door.   Marvel at having a garage.  With a car in it, even.   A myriad of miracles before 7:30 a.m. in the got-damned morning.

Then there would be very little to observe for over ten hours.

Back home at six, what’s for dinner let’s get burritos how was your day okay is there homework yes did you do it yes did you really yes mom god.    You’d see me standing lost in thought in the kitchen.   You’d see me clear the dishes and open up the Chromebook and put my hands on the keys, weaving contentment and gratitude and relief with regret and sorrow and grief, the rhythm varying in speed and urgency, until it’s time to climb into my bed and start the whole process again.

1 comment:

  1. Consider how many creative people have been hypomaniac (as I am). Consider the difference between inspiration and its-just-the-damned-squirrels-in-my-head-I-have-to-oil-that-damned-wheel. The structure of dependent children is something I miss (not counting alerts from Chase about the Brilliant Princess in New York using my credit card at Duane Reade's again, but she got into Columbia for christ's sake stop complaining). And the structure of a job that gets me out of my pajamas and out of The Box (my living room cum office). Structure is a lovely thing, and children one of its best expressions. I wish my son weren't at work. It's been so long since he quit school and became my roomie, when our time together was more precious, when there was curry and odd Japanese yakuza action movie.