I’ve never been the most organized person. I’m a last minute gal. I don’t get gas until the light comes on. If you’ve invited me to a party, you’ll probably get a gift card that I’ve picked up at the Von’s around the corner from your home. I’m lucky when things happen away from home because, should the need arise, I have: funny socks, duct tape, scented lotion, light bulbs, fruit snacks, scissors, a cork screw – the list goes on – all in my car’s trunk, left from the time when I needed to bring said items to an outing and failed to take them back inside the house.
In short, I’m a mess. But there comes a time when self-intervention is necessary. Take Exhibit #1.
My desk. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even use it, needing to push aside piles just to do any work. I could probably use a lesson in sifting & tossing. (BTW, that’s my girl Ava on the screen and her film distribution company: check out the African-American Film Festival Releasing Movement, AKA AAFRM at http://affrm.tumblr.com/ – support more films by her by voting for her at affinity.strutta.com/entries)
And it doesn’t end there. I swear it was just last night when I did the dishes (my LEAST favorite chore in the house – even ranking below toilet cleaning).
But look! Where did all these NEW dishes come from?
I try. I really, really try. But there are so many other things (sewing, cleaning my belly button, being hypnotized, having the wax washed out of my ears, getting a skin test for TB) I’d rather do than clean. Is that wrong? Does that make me a cave woman?
My husband would say “Yes! – Yes, indeed.” But he’s not a writer. He’s not a dreamer. A creator. A maker. That’s what I chose to do today instead of cleaning. I MADE stuff. I cleared up the clutter in my head.
Will I clean the kitchen? Eventually. Otherwise, I’ll run out of spoons and won’t be able to eat my bowl of Special K in the morning. Will I clean my desk? Likely, no. Not until I …
No. I probably won’t. But in the meantime, I’m going to be cranking out some sublime goodness. And hopefully, whoever reads my pages won’t be too bothered if they are smeared with peanut butter or nacho cheese. Happy writing!