Sunday, June 23, 2013

Short Story Sundays: Napping


Napping

Elongated limbs.  Bodily branches reaching in the air, pulling out in every direction.  Stretching far, further, furthest out to the absolute furthest comprehensibly possible point.  
Ah. There.  
The eased release.  Energy slithering out.   Seeping, sinking, slinking, slumping. Deflating after the urgency of moments before.  Draping legs decorating the sofa. Blanket legs. Curled but not crumpled.  Arms dreamily dangling.  Throw pillow arms.  The tingle of relaxation softly vibrating through the languid living room.  Skin tingling.  Just a rag doll ornament.  Another fixture of the languid living room.  
A lazy daisy.
No pressing or stressing.  No required bamboozling nor prerequisite choosing, cruising, shmoozing.  No daily grind. No grinding grinding grind.  Crack!  Out of bed. Crack!  To the car. Crack! To the desk. Cramming, cringing, cranking. Cantering toward the breaking point until…  Not  today. Nothing.  Only rest.
Only snoozing.  
Soft sunshine seeping in.  All is still. One with the languid living room.  One with the squashy sofa.  One with silent, sleeping air.

New Project: Short Story Sundays

Hey gang!
I've decided to revisit a book of writing exercises that I was a particular fan of in college.  To keep me honest, I'm going to post whatever writing comes out from doing the exercises every Sunday.  If you feel like playing along at home, the book I'm working from is called Steering the Craft by Ursula K. Le Guin.  I'd love to read some of your pieces too. :-)
Happy Writing!

Monday, June 10, 2013

Learning to be Twenty-four

             Yesterday, as I unhappily lurched up off the couch to put in a different movie to watch while I nursed the hangover that would surely loom above me for the rest of my born days, it occurred to me that this was not the activity of a twenty-four year old woman.  Sure, a mere twenty-three year old girl can get by spending an entire day cursing the gods for her own over indulgence, but the twenty-fourth year of life demands a little more elegance.  So today, with all the clarity afforded me from yesterday's water, Gatorade and greasy Chinese food I have comprised a list of things twenty-four year old Becky really should stop or start to do:

1) Twenty-four year old women do not have soul sucking hangovers, an elegant lady of twenty-four learns to politely vomit out the poison and go about her day.  Sure, at the tender age of twenty-three it may seem cool to drain a tenth shot of whiskey without tribute to the porcelain god of humility, but a twenty-four year old woman of grace knows that a private moment of indignity at the end of the night could spare her the next twenty-four hours of confinement to her couch.  Much like a runway model learns to expel her rice cakes for the sake of her career, a twenty-four year old woman must make appropriate sacrifices.

2) A twenty-four year old does not hide dirty cookie sheets in the oven when friends come over. She makes the time to clean everything, no matter how delicious the coffee smells are as they pour onto the street on her walk home.  How could she possibly enjoy that Columbian blend knowing that there is work to be done?

3) A twenty- four year old sends 'thank you' notes to friends who bake cupcakes and give presents, and resists sending 'no thank you'  notes to men who give unwanted phone numbers and cheek kisses.

4) Twenty-four year old women are much too elegant and mysterious to ever receive unwanted cheek kisses.

5) A twenty-four year old woman always remembers to shut her curtains before taking showers.

6) On the rare occasion that she does forget about the curtains, she does not give the homeless man looking at her in her towel a thumbs up.

7) A  twenty-four year old woman is permitted to wear her birthday tiara around the apartment while doing dishes and such, but never will she wear it downstairs and out to the dumpster.

8)  A twenty-four year old woman does not go out in public looking like a mess.  Even when walking home from the gym, she puts some effort toward looking as though she merely has a spritz of glistening lady sweat, not as though she has just stepped out of a pool of bodily liquid.  Should she forget this, her punishment will arrive in the form of an ex boyfriend, childhood rival, or familiar handsome barista, any of whom will smile a little too knowingly as they make polite small talk, trying not to breathe through their noses.

9) A twety-four year old will not listen to the Space Jam theme song more than twice in one day.  This includes performing her own acoustic covers of the tune.  Her neighbors have suffered enough from back when she was a naive twenty-three year old, now they can enjoy the reformed creature whose walls they share.

10)  A twenty-four year old woman never ever makes a move toward a man.  Even when he sits down directly across from her at a cafe and smiles over at her when she looks up from the blog she is working on, she will not be inviting.  Audrey Hepburn is only ever candid with a man when she is drunk or drugged, so shall an elegant twenty-four year old woman behave.  Polite giggles at small jokes is all he will get from her otherwise dignified demeanor.

             My first day and a half as a twenty-four year old woman has already proven many of these goals difficult to accomplish, but I am quite scrappy underneath all this freshly applied mystique, so let's do this.