8:00 a.m.
Sketch: Sunday Afternoon*
The obligations have been taken care of, and there it is: the tiny window of time that's all mine before I have to jump into another set of things that must be done. The question of what do do with these small hours is one I don't like to answer, because there's nothing that's readily apparent.
Sunday afternoon is when people relax, isn't it? Mow the lawn? Read a book? Catch a movie on TV? I don't know what it is that other people do, and if I did, I'd do my best to avoid it. Being unexpected is ingrained so deeply that it's become a fault. This stubbornness -- this insistence on going a different way, finding another path, answering everyone's questions in a voice no one expects -- it hasn't particularly served me well, but I wouldn't ever admit it.
What of Sunday afternoon? It's good for thought, for remembering, for going over every written page like it's part of a Choose Your Own Adventure book, twisting the decisions into alternate universes where things might've worked better if only --
If only.
It's safe to dwell for an hour or two before skipping ahead, planning out what comes next and then discarding it entirely, because one thing a girl like me doesn't do is plan ahead. Planning ahead means being prepared for each possible eventuality, and in that, there's no room for surprise.
And surprise is the important thing. On the surface, things seem simple, but adventure is really only a matter of spin, and one thing I do like is telling a good story.
*Autobiographical? Heh. I don't believe in that sort of thing.
The obligations have been taken care of, and there it is: the tiny window of time that's all mine before I have to jump into another set of things that must be done. The question of what do do with these small hours is one I don't like to answer, because there's nothing that's readily apparent.
Sunday afternoon is when people relax, isn't it? Mow the lawn? Read a book? Catch a movie on TV? I don't know what it is that other people do, and if I did, I'd do my best to avoid it. Being unexpected is ingrained so deeply that it's become a fault. This stubbornness -- this insistence on going a different way, finding another path, answering everyone's questions in a voice no one expects -- it hasn't particularly served me well, but I wouldn't ever admit it.
What of Sunday afternoon? It's good for thought, for remembering, for going over every written page like it's part of a Choose Your Own Adventure book, twisting the decisions into alternate universes where things might've worked better if only --
If only.
It's safe to dwell for an hour or two before skipping ahead, planning out what comes next and then discarding it entirely, because one thing a girl like me doesn't do is plan ahead. Planning ahead means being prepared for each possible eventuality, and in that, there's no room for surprise.
And surprise is the important thing. On the surface, things seem simple, but adventure is really only a matter of spin, and one thing I do like is telling a good story.
*Autobiographical? Heh. I don't believe in that sort of thing.
