Myrna’s heels were worn down from walking in her own kitchen, feeding her husband who’d grown old and solid in weight. Day in and day out, she whipped up meals according to his taste buds but she often had a mind to poison him. While he sat and seemed helpless enough sitting on two bone-rotted hips, he talked too much. Sometimes, he’d ring a bell to be served a glass of water or holler out some command while she was watching her soap operas. Myrna simply loathed the idea of a broken down man issuing commands to her. If she could just kill him and get away with it, she would’ve taken them both out of misery.
“Shut up, you old buzzard!” Myrna had jumped off her warm seat on the couch, missing a cliffhanger to fetch Paul’s spoon off the floor he’d dropped. “I’ll burn up this house and leave you here if you don’t stop messing with me.” Her lips were tight and hearing her deepened voice, Paul’s eyes bucked.
He looked to be marinating a thought. “No, you won’t, you ole crusty woman.” He then worked up a wad of spit and blinded Myrna’s right eye.
“Uggghhh!” Myrna balled her fists and threw Paul an uppercut, sending his bottom gums bumping with the top, as his teeth were soaking in a glass in the kitchen window.
She then stared at the sagging old man Paul had turned into. Couldn’t believe she’d fallen in love with him twenty years ago. Had she envisioned the scene she was in with him now, she’d have stayed single and whorish. And just that quickly, she began missing those Friday nights at Foxy’s Club, eating smoked ribs and collards in a haze of tobacco-stained teeth men who only desired a soft round bottom against their palms at the end of the night with no strings. What was in her mind that made her give away that kind of freedom? What lines had this drooping buzzard laid on her ears all those years ago to ultimately bring her life to this?
Good girls don’t get the attention, so a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Don’t be mad at them ’cause they’ve got everything they want and not afraid to go after more of it. Like politicians, the public puts these folk where they are. They are the stuff that Hollywood’s made of now. Get used to it ’cause it’s not going away. It does, however, make it more challenging for plain ole folk, like you and me.
You know, we work hard in life and on these blogs and whatnot. You (not me) would snip your ear to get your creative endeavors noticed so you could give up that job and pursue it full-time but you just can’t bear the thought of any likenesses to someone who cut their entire ear off (Vincent Van Gogh). Some folk will do anything but you just haven’t thought of it ’cause you’re too busy being normal. Plus, you’re not willing to sell whatever’s left of your soul after a hard day’s work. It’s too exhausting. Besides, the house has to be cleaned. Your husband’s laid off and playing video games now, so you’re financially strapped. The woman across the street’s got Lawn of the Year and you’ve gotta outdo her. The dog needs to be walked, taken for a poop and he takes so darn long. You’re depressed and had to get yourself some retail therapy with your girls. It’s just soooo busy…I absolutely feel you on some it…Well actually, none of the above but you know where I’m going with this, so don’t act.
I’m writing to you today, folks, to give myself a swift kick in my own tail and if you can identify, you should do the same. Not mine but yours. While I’ve been painting I’m not writing as much as I’d like.
So, what steps have I taken to make space for living a creative life? I cleaned my studio. I’m like a deer in the headlights now. I have a coupla projects to work on though. I think I’m gonna buy that paint you can turn into a chalkboard and write what I need to do so I can see it. I have figured out that I’m painting during the week and writing weekends. But what I’m doing is neither here or there. What’s your plan?