I love being a member of a writing group. Keeps me on my toes, er, makes me "write" something, at least every two weeks. In a few weeks, that will change again, and I will adapt again, to the practice of writing more often if only to be prepared for a weekly writing class. Writing to a prompt, not an easy task. I want to offer the next suggestion. Mine would be "write about absolutely nothing". Worked for Seinfeld. But, alas, today it won't work. Today, I am prompted by another group member to write about a perfect day, one that can be realized, not one that would be only in one's mind, far from reality. So, I have spent the past two weeks thinking about this, almost penning that a perfect day would be any day that was free of the humidity that has become an unwelcomed guest for the past weeks and weeks and weeks. Or so, it would seem. But, this morning, one that is clear and breezy and dry, oh I love you, dry, I am able to see through the trees, once shrouded in billows of moisturized air, and write on prompt.
It's fairly simple. A perfect day? One that would start and end without me having to clean or organize one, single thing. I don't need Tahiti or Bali. I just need to get up and not feel compelled. I just need to get out of bed, stare out the window and resist the temptation to pick anything other than a cup of coffee. It would be utter perfection, starting with that hour of the day, the day on which I do not wipe the counter and mentally start to list everything I've ever seen on Pinterest for cleaning granite. I'd revel in the morning sun if only I could keep my hands off a sponge or paper towel. If I could be so fortunate as to leave the damned broom in its place and not sweep the floor. Oh, what a day if I could refrain from looking at the sun without thinking, "this would be a killer day to hang out the wash". My life would be complete on this day if I could leave the bottle of Windex under the sink, the dust cloth in it's tidy holder, the soap dish in the tub, filled with the water it caught underneath it's little rubber thingee that prevents the soap from getting mushy. Oh, what a day!
This compulsion, to be always at the ready, to be forever the cleanest gal on the block? Ask Mrs. Young, the grade school nurse at Hawthorne Public School. I actually have a lot to thank her for.
Were it not for her, I might never have become a nurse, determined to use my profession to never, ever make anyone feel dirty or unworthy. I may never have been as aware of the need for good self-esteem and championed it as I believe I have done in my lifetime. Without her, I may have had hundreds of perfect days, really perfect days.