Mess Makin'...

Sadly burlesque didn’t end up happening as something came up for Haley. I enjoyed a lil collage project action, dinner and some much needed sleep. Work the following day was pleasant as was the rest of the evening. Today I woke up to the birds chirping outside my window and the sun rising. I…have no plans. No where to be and nothing to do. Well… a few minor things but still, it’s a lovely and somewhat scary feeling. I’m trying to go with it and not question it.
On my walk home from coffee and writing at the Knockbox I was daydreaming about writing simply to write. No agendas, no topics or themes, just writing for the sake of it. I used to attempt this when I was in high school. I’d try to concoct stories to send in the Seventeen magazine, never finishing them, forever beginning and allowing them to trail off. I could write in a journal all day but write something you might read? Not so much on that. I would become (and still become) paralyzed with fear, suddenly stopping or allowing myself to become distracted, forgetting about the piece.
My thoughts meander still to thinking about my dad’s mom telling us every now and then how when he finished eating, he’d make sure all the crumbs were cleaned up never leaving a mess. My dad is in his fifties and still to this day, crumbs do not exist.
I am this way in certain aspects of my life. Especially at work. I don’t like clutter and everything has it’s place. When I’m working on my jewelry I don’t like everything to be everywhere, although it most certainly looks that way. When I cook or bake I clean as I go, putting away ingredients as I use them. If writing happens it happens because I have something in mind that I feel needs to be expressed or accomplished rarely for the sheer joy of writing.
I’d like to say that I’m not into making a mess but judging from my room on most days chaos seems to be where I’m most comfortable. Lately, I’m trying to change this along with allowing myself to make a mess as I go in other areas. This may mean taking over the living room with my sparkly-making, or blowing up the kitchen one afternoon during a muffin baking extravaganza. It also may include, I hope, writing for the sake of writing. Telling a story simply because it enters my mind and I want to write it out to see what I might discover.
At Lovely this afternoon, I attempt this. It takes two paragraphs, like it sometimes take two miles to really get into a run before I begin enjoying it. I write and write and write until, I stop. The story ended on it’s own without my help. It sit back for a moment, digesting the experience before closing my notebook. What was that and can I have more of it please? Time seemed to not exist for a little while. The weird music wasn’t so piercing and the voices around me sounded like white noise.
What would life look like if I didn’t try to contain and compartmentalize it all the time? What if I left the crumbs every now and then? Let go of perfectionism? Got a lil messy? Then enjoyed it…