Saturday, January 4, 2014
If It Is Saturday, It Will Soon Be Sunday!
Nearly 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night. Woman with blog sits in front of laptop determining the wisdom of posting at this early hour in the evening. Woman comes face to face with agreement with self to improve sleeping habits. Woman accepts that 1:00 a.m. is not an improvement of her sleeping habits. Woman wonders if creativity is even available at such an early hour in the evening. She determines to try despite her identification with a fantasy of late nights in a large city in an apartment situated over a late night deli with a neon, blinking light casting shadows into the apartment. Film Noir come to life..the woman imagines herself sitting in this small apartment, window open, rain falling, noise from the streets drifting up through the open window, laptop open, cigarette smoke streaming from her lips, drawn back in thru her nostrils and back out again...frenching the cigarette and thinking, thinking, thinking. She loves the city, loves the smell of wet pavement, sounds of car wheels running through puddles, laughter, voices, faint music from a club down the street. Her mind turns to her writing. She writes of a woman who lives in a mobile home near the coast of North Carolina with her husband, three cats and the sounds of the t.v. coming down the hall from the living room. She writes of a woman who's family lives all around her, a woman who is chronically ill with one thing or the other and far too interwoven with her family for her own good. A deep drag on the cigarette, eyes closed, the woman in the apartment imagines the smell of the ocean air, the coastal storm, the quietness of a small, small city near the ocean in North Carolina. A long stream of cigarette smoke streams slowly from her nostrils. Yes, that is the setting, that is the woman she will write of, the woman she will bring to life. She smiles. It will be a long, long evening of writing, creating, imagining. She will go to bed when the neon light no longer casts a shadow. She will close the window, draw the drapes, shut down the laptop, crawl under the covers of her bed and sleep a deep, dream-filled sleep. Her last thoughts are of a name for this woman by the coast. She wants something different. Something she has not heard before. A name drawn from her imagination, perhaps a name she will choose on a whim, a lark!
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