Something's Gotta Give, Alright

Prompt No. 36: Pretty Perfect Problems and a Playlist (Finally!)

How I felt, but certainly not how I looked.

My environment often reflects my state of mind. If the house is cluttered — if there’s dust on the vents and cobwebs collecting in far flung corners, if clothes pile up unfolded — chances are I am procrastinating. I am avoiding all work because the real work, the problem I most desperately want to solve, feels impossible. However, this week I swore the problem was my environment. As a crew set up around our house, unpacking boxes of caulk and primer, everything outside came in. The balcony sofa slid into the middle of the bedroom, empty planters lined the hallway, and what couldn’t fit inside sat in disordered piles in the backyard, cluttering the carriage house and fire pit. Then came the banging and scraping...

When I began to write in earnest six months ago, my hetero-life mate* suggested I might need a retreat, a quiet spot on Coastal Maine. I thought he meant my packing up a few things, including our dog, and spending some time in a minimally but well-appointed cottage where I focused solely on churning out pages. He quickly disabused me of that notion. Who would cook and keep the kitchen stocked with my favorite foods? Certainly, I would not make enough trips to Hannaford and I could not survive on oysters and mignonette alone. I might as well stay at home, I scoffed. While scouring Zillow for places in and around Camden and Brooklin, dishes sat in the sink too long and plants struggled to survive. After a few weeks, I found myself spending more time house hunting as if we needed to move, and not caring for the one we actually owned. I soon realized the words would not flow any easier from a brightly colored Loll Adirondack Chair with the scent of honeysuckle and salt wafting by.