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southernwriter (6991821)

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Life of a Southern Writer
Blogging Memphis / How I Live, Write & Think

Name:

southernwriter

Website:

Red Heart Novels

Location:

Land of Cotton, Mississippi, United States

Birthdate:

02-08

Bio:

MOVED TO http://blography-of-southern-writer.blogspot.com/

I cannot think of what to write, so I rise from my desk and go into the kitchen to fetch a cup of coffee. I open the cabinets to look for something to munch on, knowing I will find nothing, or that I will settle for something I shouldn't be eating in the first place. The cat ties knots around my ankles and bites my foot. He gets his choice of duck with wild rice, or filet mignon with smelly shrimp. He eats better than I do, but feigns indifference.

Looking out the bay window in the kitchen, I see a weed in the iris bed, and another sprouting up beside the basil, so I go out to pluck them. The herbs are crying for a drink, and rather than spend an hour mixing Miracle Gro in the watering can and lugging it out here a dozen times, I walk around to the front of the house and drag the hose back here. Knowing if I put it down it will stay here until I need it out front again, I drag it back. A robin chirps at me from the edge of the bird bath, which is nearly dry. I pull the organic stuff out of the bath and refill it, but now my hands feel slimy, and as I look down, I notice I splattered mud on my legs while I watered the garden.

I wind up the hose and go back into the house, where I check my e-mail just in case there's something I need to read this very second. Blocking the unending supply of spam, I open the funnies and forward the best ones on. In the shower, I wash with soap smelling of green tea and cucumbers, and my hair with grapefruit scented shampoo. The shaving cream I put on my legs is supposed to be aloe, but smells like menthol, and my toothpaste is vanilla mint, which tastes like chocolate mint Girl Scout cookies. I top it all off with Oil of Old Lady, baby-powdered deodorant, and Lauren or Shalimar perfume. In ten minutes my face is on, my eyes highlighted and rimmed with kohl, and in another hour, the frizzies in my hair are sufficiently smoothed. I check the e-mail again. %$#&%$ spam.

I toss my clothes in the washer and go to gather those from the basket in the bedroom and add them. I grab my purse, my phone, look for my keys until I find them in the door or refrigerator, and go out to jump in the Jeep, turning the radio down because my ears are not yet used to the blast. As soon as I'm past all the places where kids and pets roam, I drive too fast. The hair I just spent an hour straightening is now a knotted mass of red tangles. At the light, I look up into any big rigs that are around, in case there's a cowboy hat up there with Fred under it. He is never there, but I've been doing it for twenty-five years and it's a hard habit to break. A song I like is on the radio now and I turn it up too loud because the Jeep is in serious need of a new tailpipe. I spend five minutes buying cigarettes and another twenty talking with the clerk who aspires to be a published poet.

It's now three in the afternoon and I check my e-mail again, then go into the kitchen and make a Margarita. Remembering there are clothes in the washer, I set the drink down. First, I must take the clothes from the dryer, fold them, hang them, put them away. Thank God I no longer iron. After switching the wet clothes to the dryer, I search for hangers for the delicates, but end up draping them on the telescope to dry. There's the bra I've been looking for all week. As long as I'm in here, I check e-mail again, then go out to check snail mail. Tossing the bills onto the kitchen counter, I empty the dishwasher, fill it again, and make sweet tea. The floor needs to be swept and I promise myself I will do it later. I let the cat out. I let the cat in. I let the cat out. I tire of this game and go back to the office and sit at my desk again. My muse has finally shown up, but the son of a bitch is asleep now.

Memories:

71 entries

Interests:

7: astrology, books, gardening, metaphysics, noveling, old school rock, writing

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