The day after.
The day after a big party, a big fight, a big storm. I assume that the next days weather will be different just because I feel different, because I’ve been affected.
I don’t know why, but I do.
Today feels like a different day, like a day I’ve never had before. I am looking out my front window through the sheer curtain that shields the walking public from eyeing into my office. My office is my living room and the dress code is underpants-casual. There is a small tree that has a home within a plot of grass within a sea of cement and the leaves on the tree are moving gently. Gentle but constant enough that you might think it was quite cold outside. Quite breezy. And I know it’s not. My IPhone tells me that the weather in Toronto is 23 degrees, which with the humidity is basically ‘Melt your Face’ degrees celsius. And I don’t mind that. I may have officially given up wearing pants for the summer, but today I’d like to pretend it’s cold outside.
The back-up kettle is on and I am on my third cup of tea. I burnt out the primary kettle yesterday. I was painting my nails and watching The Killing and completely forgot about the water boiling. Thank Heavens for the smoke alarm. And the back-up kettle.
I live in a state of cozy disarray. My room is a constant tornado of clothes and scripts and streetcar transfers and shoes. There are a lot of shoes. Way too many shoes for these two feet. If someone was to enter my bedroom on any given day, they would assume that I’d been robbed: The place is in shambles and there is nothing of any real monetary value in sight. I often come home late at night and am shocked by the state I’ve left things in my usual mad dash to leave the house. If I see my laptop, I know I haven’t been robbed and breathe a sigh of relief.
This happens once a week.
So now I am drinking tea and sitting in my house. I am pretending it is cold outside and trying to write. Well, writing, I guess. I am writing this right now.
I am drinking tea and pretending it is cold outside because I desperately want to write today and sometimes it’s hard to do. Sometimes there just isn’t much to say.
Today isn’t a day after. There was no big party, no big fight. There was a big storm but that didn’t really affect me at all. Yesterday I had a good audition, a good time serving a pop up dinner. After work, the usual suspects sat around Table 20 at The BTaps playing Family Feud but the only real gem to come from that is that of 100 surveyed Americans, none of them think it’s a bad idea to bring a newborn baby to a wedding.
It was a good day. Not much to write about though.
Except this. I guess I wrote this. About today.
I must force myself to write about nothing to get something. This is my rule. The only real rule. The only real rule to my writing. My writing about nothing.
And I just made up that rule.
I think that I may just have to suck it up and go outside and play.