Thursday, May 27, 2010


First, I am typing blind, so please ignore typos. I am actually quite a skilled typist. My kids (at school) marvel at my ability to watch them while typing. I've been having trouble with my eyes for a month or so, and yesterday it seemed to get worse.

Driving home in the direction of the graveyard, it looked as thought the tombstones had made their way into the street. I could see them quite clearly lined up neat and tidy across the road.

This morning on my way to Fain's Kindergarten graduation, everything suddenly became blurry. No more driving today.

However, that is not what I feel like writing about. Today, I feel like analyzing why I never complete anything that I start. Never may be a strong word. Let's say that I start many projects that I take to some halfway point before becoming distracted by some other project.

Thus, my vegetable garden is half covered in pine straw and half fenced. My dining room table is half painted. My kitchen cabinets are half renovated. Kitchen curtain are half sewn. Farmer's Market application has been filled out for two months but has yet to make it halfway to the drop off point. Dozens of novels and non-fiction tomes are half read. House is nearly half clean. It's really quite a state. What could that mean?

I want to do so many things. I want to paint realistic illustrations of tomato plants and sundrops with watercolors, and I also want to paint rich thick abstract paintings of the same leaves with acrylics. I want to embroider honeybees and bluebirds onto scraps of fabric, and I want to raise honeybees and house bluebirds in my backyard. I want to write several novels and a slew of poems and learn to play guitar and write my own songs. I want to take Fain for long walks and practice Tae Kwan Do moves in the backyard with him and make pizza dough and smother it with green peppers and red onions from our garden, bake french bread and biscuits and pies. I want to paint the walls turquoise. I'm overwhelmed by the things that I want to do, and so I never seem capable of doing anything.

I am a character from an absurdist play.

"Yes, let's go." They do not move.

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A Mirror, A Summer, A Street by Autumn Crisp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.