A whole week’s gone by and I haven’t written a thing. Well I have written a thing. I wrote a whole bunch of text for a neverending business plan. Pages of text as a draft for a new catalog. The beginning of a bunch of blog entries. Each comprised of a few lines that start somewhere, meander somewhere else, and then end up stranded in the middle of nowhere like a life vest swimming at sea, its little red strings crimson against its pure white snowiness.
Which is why I decided that today would be the day that I’d sit down and see some written words to fruition. Can you write something to fruition? I can. It’s like watching a fruit slowly ripen, then burst with juice, then be overtaken with flies. It’s where I go when I put one foot in front of the other and finish the sentence I started.
Because I start a lot of sentences lately. Not sentences, really. Dialogues more like. They start and then, well, you know what happens next.
So here I am writing only I don’t have a story to write about or one topic to adhere to or anything. I just have a whole keyboard of letters at my disposal and I can keep tapping at them until a whole page of drivel sits before me and I can proudly say my fingers have made these words.
I obsess over choosing who watches my kids while I work and wonder about the secret world that emerges like a scene in a pop up book when I close the door behind me.
I wonder at the strange mix of revulsion, awe, jealousy, and pity I feel for full time working mothers.
I wish I could make my young un step in line behind me and sing the tune I demand.
I am secretly proud that he is secure enough that I won’t abandon him that he completely ignores my entreaties to stay with me at the store and is sure I’ll come back for him.
I long for, well never mind what I long for. Mainly sleep. And hammocks and breezes and sandy beaches.
And you know what else?
My perfect little life.
The little toes and bellies G-d lets me wash every night before I wrap those little forms in big towels and kiss their soft cheeks good night.
It’s just perfect, isn’t it?