some people have imaginary friends
Heard a Creative Writing teacher on the CBC today say that the most important thing to do if you wanted to write was to do it every day. This sounds like a good idea to me, and a way to exercise storytelling muscles gone flabby.
So today, the theme is the future. I'm not doing a resolution list this year because that comes perilously close to optimism and risk-taking, and I don't want any part of either of those things. Instead, I'm going to dream up something that lies in the triangle of wishful thinking, resolution and motivation. Presenting: the house where I will live next year.
Two bedrooms I think, or maybe three if the price is right (and the rest of the house small): one for us and one for Blake. Tiny bedrooms, I think, just space for a bookshelf and a bed and a chest of drawers and a night table. No need to sleep in a hotel suite, although there may be room in both for a comfy chair each. One must have a place for reading. If there is a third bedroom, it is an office with a marking desk and a computer desk. Also a work table for Blake, so we can all concentrate together.
Kitchen is likewise small, but the cupboards are well-planned. Or they will be once we're through with them. Lots of pasta and seeds and dried fruits in the cupboards, and fewer canned soups than I'm currently used to. A fridge that's probably on its last legs, but will have to do until we can get the money aside for a new one. No weird smells and the freezer is a bit balky. Lovely sink, but the countertop is old & cracked. The walls are green or yellow, growing colours, and the windows are hung with nursery school rainbow catchers.
Living room and dining room are one long room. Couch is new and comfortable, teevee is old but mostly used for movies. Bookshelves everywhere, books crowding out other things. A good place, with large containers of random toys, most of which go away for the night, but in periods of sloth remain out and about. A bookcase devoted entirely to yarn, knitting books and tools, with a comfy chair hard by. A wardrobe to hold musical instruments stands in a corner. Table pushed against the wall, a chair on each of the open sides and placemats. Every once in awhile, fresh flowers. A really great (but slightly drafty) window looking out to the street and the front yard, with long curtains. Enough light to please the long-suffering kalanchoe plant, which has responded with showy blooms.
A basement, with a washer and dryer and enough room for Blake to run around on rainy days. A backyard gone scrubby with neglect, but still showing the remains of a corner garden. A tree. And that's it.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*