A Road Less Travelled

So I was going through some of my writings trying to decide what would get to move into the coveted “Finished” file folder. Only the few, the proud, the heavily edited get to go there. While I was poking around I came upon this. I wrote it while I was babysitting for the Peiffers. I know that I just started writing something with absolutely no idea where it was going. I know that I was trying to write from someone else’s perspective. Other than that I have no idea what was going on. I’m still trying to figure out if I managed to write from someone else’s point of view or if this is just a different way of expressing myself. I don’t even know if it’s done. I hope you enjoy joining me in my pleased befuddlement.

“Once upon a time there was a girl who’s parents loved her very much. They showered her with love and she grew up tall and pretty and talented. And they lived happily ever after.”

If I was writing a story that’s how it would begin and end. If I felt like the story needed more to happen in the middle I would put in a bunch of stuff about happiness and blue skies. It would never rain in my story.

Instead of writing I’m cleaning the kitchen. I actually like cleaning kitchens. They’re better to clean than bedrooms or cozy places because you can make a kitchen look clean without making it look sterile. Cozy places are supposed to look a little cramped. It’s the smallness that makes it comfy and inviting. Big spaces are for company and formalities.

Kitchens on the other hand can be big and still inviting. When everything is in its place and the counters and floors are clean a kitchen vibrates with potential. It’s waiting to be made dirty again with a rush of ingredients and flavors and creativity.

I’m not creative enough to make a kitchen dirty. I’m the one who comes through afterwards to make it clean again. I’m tidy and orderly no matter how hard I try to be creative. I tried painting and all I could paint was concentric boxes. They were perfectly proportioned which just goes to show how prosaic I am. I tried drawing, but all I could draw was a architecturally correct skyscraper. I didn’t even draw the sky behind it.

That’s why I clean. I like putting things where they go because it feels like creation in reverse. I’m undoing everything that the talented person did except for what was created. The creation stays in this world, a testament to the skill and imagination of the creator. And I come along behind and put everything back where it goes.

I’d really like to be creative sometime. I’d like to let myself forget what should be and just make things the way I want them. I’d paint big, explosive flowers with a brilliant sky make of sequins and it would be beautiful. Other people would think it was beautiful, too. I was really happy with my boxes and skyscraper, but I know they aren’t beautiful. What’s so beautiful about order?

I did like those boxes, though.