Today’s post doesn’t really have much to do with writing, though I’m calling it free prose. That’s not the same as stream of consciousness; I would never subject you to that.
I grow roses … well, for the most part this last year, I neglected roses, but still they bloomed. Yesterday I cut a few. I don’t usually do that this late in the season because I like to let them go dormant for a couple months, but roses that bloom in cool weather have the sweetest fragrance, and I needed a lift.
In the bouquet pictured, I have Don Juan (red), Henry Fonda (yellow) and Margaret Merrill (white) and though the yellow doesn’t usually have much scent, and the red much less than the white, they’re all scenting the room as I write.
I have not done so well on my NaHoCleMo challenge. The reward of a spotless house, including cupboards, closets, and drawers, is not enough to goad me into the nearly three hours of daily work I need to keep on goal. Actually, it’s not so much the cleaning that gets me down, it’s the deciding. I don’t know what to do with piles of stuff when I pull it out of those cupboards, closets, and drawers.
I like to blame it on being born under the sun sign of Libra … you know, being able to see all sides and trying to be fair in my judgment. Should I keep this? Should I give it away? Should I toss it? It’s that inability to decide that clutters my house in the first place. That, and my mother cleaning my childhood bedroom and throwing away all my little “collections” which she apparently mistook for trash. I’ve battled with keeping MY STUFF ever since. Ah, well …
I know this question is “out there” but is it possible that time is speeding up? I’ve been thinking that it’s only because I’m getting older. And cruel joke that—the less time you have left the faster it’s used up! But I’ve heard people far younger than I make the same observation.
Of course, with that in mind, we could veer off into questioning what time is, which would make my head spin, so let’s don’t. Although … that does remind me of the show LOST and how I so wish I could figure it out before they reveal it all this next season.
All right, I’ve blathered long enough, but at least free prose is … well … free.