Today I was loaded with anxiety, but my soul was too weary, so what happened was that I stood there in the middle of the house while my head ran around the living room without me. It was really weird. I remember going to the refrigerator several times to meet a wasted, irritable odor. But I didn’t have the discipline to clean it, desperate as my fridge was for a good cleaning. Instead, I concerned myself with keeping Chas out of the kitchen and hoping that Ford wouldn’t look back into his childhood, later on, to discover that his first memory was peeking into a rancid icebox. I thought of solutions to the problem, and none of them were to clean the fridge. The best idea I had was to ignore it another day.
Chas likes Harry Potter, not snuggling up in bed to read a copy of the book but sitting on the edge of the bed watching the movie on Ford’s laptop. If I deny his first request, he will continue bobbing up and down uttering “Pottah?” Pottah? Pottah?” until either I give in or he breaks down in a holy shitfit. I blame Ford, who is entirely too influential. Chas will sit, transfixed before the screen, for ten minutes at a time. It’s creepy. I know it’s not porn, but this bothers me fundamentally. Books have a lot of competition for his attention. At the same time, I can’t help chuckle; “BOMBAZAH!” is a very interesting first phrase.
Where I lack the inspiration to wipe diluted bleach solution onto refrigerator shelves, I certainly haven’t lacked it in the creative department. And I have Ford as my witness; I found myself telling him earlier this week that 2006 was the year I would be rejected by a lot of publishing companies, but that I’d have dummy (picture) books flying in all different directions, nonetheless. Experience has shown that nothing is final until I’ve confessed it to Ford. Of course, I had to explain the definition of a “dummy book” to Ford, a rather simple process made difficult and I don’t think he ever got over the derogatory connotation.
2006 is the year you will be discovered, not denied.
The frig will always wait, and I have cleaned ones that have sat for over a year until black….. they always clean. Keep doing what you are doing as today you are making lasting impressions that build character and self confidence and lay the neuronal groundwork that make the difference in lives. It might even make the difference in a whole society.
One thing’s for sure: I have plenty of support! Thank you 🙂
I grew up with a creative mother who rejected the standards of ’50’s housewifery to persue her love of art. She needed to bring in extra income but it also address her “bliss”. Our house was a mess. She was respected by her clients but not by her neighbors and some of her relatives who wanted her to be like Donna Reed.
One neighborhood child who was taking art lessons at my house stared at the corner of the room and asked “What’s that?” I looked and couldn’t see anything and then squinted and saw a wisp of dog hair. I was stunned that this child had never seen animal hair on a floor before. When the class left I gathered it up and later included it in the framing of a painting, placing it low in the left corner surrounded by pristine white matting. It would aggravate the dickens out of some people and the others will identify and laugh. Those are the people you want to invite back.
that made me smile. I loved the image of dog hair in the corner. I remember little tumbleweeds of hair, when we had dogs. EVERYWHERE. Turning that fan on would run them out like fugitives from under the sofa.
((sigh)) I miss the dogs!