I woke up at five this morning, raring to go and ready to clean my desk. The idea had been on my mind for a full twenty-four hours and had apparently bloomed while I slept. But I stayed in bed until six and then I pulled myself out, doned my slipper (Merrell sandals, really), grabbed my bathrobe, and headed to the kitchen.
It was still dark out and the house was quiet, so I made some coffee, ignored my dog who rattled around in her cage begging to get out, and then I went to the garage and grabbed the biggest box I could find. It's been several years since I cleaned my desk. Probably the last time was when my friend died and I had this need to make things look neat. Apprently, the need is back.
I started with my bookcase. I've decided to sell most of my books, but I organized them as neatly as I could and dusted the shelves. Everything that didn't belong went into the box. Then I started on my desk. Lots to throw out there. I even threw all my rejection letters (about 300 of them) into the box, along with all my emails to and from editors, writers, etc.
I'm going clean.
This is year seven. Sevens have a great significance in my life. I homeschooled my kids for seven years. Then they went to school. I've been writing and subbing for seven years. And now it is time to move on. It is time to put away the Writer's Markets. The CWIM. The SCBWI publications. It's time to throw out the rejection letters. The returned manuscripts. The letters from editors who liked but really didn't "love" my stories. But they liked them well enough to write me a personal letter which, in the scheme of things, really means nothing.
And all of this lost its importance in the last year.
On the seventh year, I change. I drop everything I'm doing and I go in a new direction. I have the attention span of God, apparently, who also did things in sevens. But let's face it. After seven years, things get stale.
So, as I cleaned, I thought about how much I would NOT miss all this stuff. All the angst. All the rejection. All the thrills. I thought about how nice my desk will look and how I no longer have the need to compete, been seen as successful, or have a career. I am free.
Not that I won't write. I will write. But I will no longer be under the cloak of what everyone thinks it is to be a writer, participate in the online writers' community, etc. I'm on my own.
I'll do whatever the hell I want to do, write whatever I want to write and maybe I will never sub another book. I just don't know.
But back to my cleaning. After I finished my desk, I decided to clean the whole danged room, along with the family room (adjoining). Then I decided to shampoo the carpet. And guess what I found? When I lifted up the area rug, there, stuck to the carpet, flat was a board, was the mouse my daughter doesn't even know is missing from her cage. And had I not decided to clean my desk, I would never have found it.
It's in perfect shape. Just flat. Nice and soft. Tail in tact. Looks like it was running along and got flattened by a truck. So, I took it and stood it up on my daughter's keyboard, so when she wakes up, it will look like there's a mouse running across her desk.
It's been a great morning so far.
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3 comments:
You're sick! The putrid filth that you dare to contaminate your own daughter's keyboard with...How could you?! If I was your wife I'd stuff used condoms down your throat to make up for the germs you've spread to your family. If I was your daughter I'd never talk to you again. If I was your son I'd laugh to myself as I stood popping zits in front of the mirror in the bathroom thinking about how my spoiled wicked sister might catch the Bubonic Plague...ah the glee!
As a stranger I turn up my nose at you good sir. I want nothing to do with such a low life who seems to think so highly of himself. And to think, I spent 2 minutes of my precious day reading about your cluttered desk and 7 year itch just to find out what kind of disgusting human being you are! I should be ashamed of myself but I'm not. At least I'll have good reason to stop wasting my time reading your articulate blog.
ok... If you ever need to send me a rejection, just email it, ok? I love ya, but...
Oh, who am I kidding? I used to butcher deer. That's way grosser than a little squished mouse. And then there was that time I found the skeleton of a little mouse under the floor boards and I tried to wire it together like a mini-museum skeleton. Would have been cool if it had worked.
you know who.
Wow! Guess that first anon has no sense of humor.
For whats it's worth, I thought it was a great piece. Very enjoyable.
(I've had hamsters, guinea pigs, cats, etc. as pets.)
And I like your more recent posts. Keep it up. :)
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