Stream of Consciousness at Its Finest

I had a shitty day on Tuesday. Actually two out of the three days this week have been shit days, and last night my mind raced and raced — unable to settle on anything. From a writing blog I follow, I’ve learned a technique of channeling those scattered, frantic thoughts into writing, so I picked up the pen and paper and followed an instruction on writing in the present moment. I chose a physical thing to describe: the light that hangs over the breakfast nook in the kitchen — and just started. I decided to share it with you to show you the inner workings of this writer’s brain. 

It’s darker than my usual self, but as I said, I had a shitty day. In the end, the writing helped.

The chain in the pendant light over the breakfast nook has a loop Mark1 made to raise it higher because Nanny kept bumping into it on the day we moved in. A circular, brass plate clings to the ceiling with a chain link extending from the center and stretching down to the frosted plastic dome trimmed in bright brass.

It illuminates the area where the dog eats and shits because we never had any kids to feed in that corner of the house — no chocolate chip pancakes served on Saturday mornings, no sugary cereal spilled in a rush to eat before getting to school.

We’ve lived in this house almost eleven years and never really made it a home. We’ve hung pictures on flat white walls and mowed a yard full of weeds. We talk of redecorating but never follow through — not enough money or not enough time. We should do this first or that, but we never do. We put off or wait until the perfect time that never arrives while our house sits with echoes and dull canvases of what could have been.

[1] Mark is my brother.


Thoughts, anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

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