Four months

Nearly four months since my last post.  I'm trying to figure out what I might have done in that time.  What I was doing.  Working, I guess.  A lot.  A trip up north, the holidays.  I find it easier to list all the things I think I might have done, would like to have done, but for some reason, didn't.  There is no story arc to the last four months, no trajectory.  No raison d'être.  If it would be helpful, here is the pronunciation:  ʁɛzɔ̃ d‿ɛːtʁ  

So let's go back to the little black box and Irma.

At about 10 o'clock, Irma found herself sitting in the little wing chair in the corner of the living room, the chair no one ever sat in, the one upholstered with hot pink peonies on a beige background.  She was thinking about buttons and coffee stains and little gold stars and feeling disoriented.  Her left leg kept bouncing, even when she reminded herself to stop.  She hadn't had that problem since she was ten years old.  Sit still, Irma. 

next

Irma picked up one of the stars, noticing that it reminded her of the pattern of her first kitchen curtains.  There were 4.2 reasons why she didn't really want to be reminded of that.  Before she could stop herself, she brushed her hand over the bush, poking her hands several times on the thorns, and all the stars fell to the ground.

Week Three

Irma pulled aside the curtain on the front door, peeked out, then stepped outside to check the weather.  No point in getting dressed until you knew about the weather.  Fifty-three degrees.  Partly sunny.  Okay.  Turning to go back inside, her attention was caught by the holly bush at the bottom of the front steps.  It was sprinkled here and there with shiny gold stars, about the size of a dime.  Moving closer, she poked at one, and it fluttered to a lower branch. 

Dear Jon Stewart,

I'm start to think you already have your hands plenty full dealing with all those people in Washington.  Man o Man!  How can they say such crazy stuff and get away with it?  I make just once teensy comment about the size of you know who's butt and only three other people hear it, and suddenly I'm off the Paint the Sunday School Room Committee and Lori Proctor, who has absolutely zero taste in paint, is in!  It just doesn't seem right.  It's okay, though, I'm not sure I fit in as well with those folks as my mom would like. 

So anyway, I'm still watching the show if I'm home and I'm still up, but I'm starting to see that the sort of problems I wanted you to solve are just not that big of a deal.  Except you might actually get somewhere with my ideas, unlike those people with the dull suits.

More

After the kitchen tidy-up, Irma checked the mouse trap under the sink--nothing.  She noticed the knob on the cupboard door was loose again, so she tightened up the screw.  On her way out of the kitchen, still pondering that coffee stain, her bare left foot stepped on something flat and cold.  A coin? she wondered.  No.  A button.  A red four-hole button.  Curiouser and curiouser.

Becca's Box

Rebecca has given me a gift that is essentially a writing challenge, a way to keep at it.  I am required to share one of my daily efforts each week.  Here goes:

Irma made some noodles for the soup she planned for dinner, then spent an hour cleaning the kitchen.  There was a stain on the counter she found particularly disturbing, a faint brown ring that she was sure must be coffee, yet she didn't remember even having coffee recently, let alone spilling it. 

I admit it's a weak effort.  But this is about practice.

Dear Jon Stewart,

So my boyfriend Justin (who is this close to being my ex boyfriend Justin) says I'm a clueless idiot to actually think you're going to do anything about the stuff I've been suggesting.  Actually, he says he doesn't even think you or anyone else even reads my letters.   

So it would help a lot with Justin, my boss and my mom, if you could just say like, hey Cindi, I'm getting your letters, but I can't do anything about them right now.  Or wink maybe.  Then I'd know. 

I'm really starting to wish I hadn't told them.  But I'm watching your show every night now.  Just in case.

All the best!

Cindi,
from you know where!