March 2009 | Chapitre Trois

Good day, dear readers, and welcome to this, my most recent re-entry to the blogosphere (an untidy word that brings to mind squishy round oozing substances, if I do say so myself). Today, I am overflowing with a soggy desire to empty, cleanse, and disinfect my home from top to bottom and back again.

I have far too many ideas for the meager free time in which I have to create, and so I stockpile ideas like the squirrel does his nuts for winter, or Frederick does his colors. I intend to follow through on at least some of these juicy morsels. And in the meantime, I use work as my outlet for creativity – wherever I can infuse it. Sure, I have a few novels in process. And I find myself wanting to blog more often. About more topics. On a more regular basis. I feel like I’ve written so many, and yet this is only the third! I have to kill the urge to procrastinate. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Remember, never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after that.

Responsibility is an easy thing. Taking care of pets and parents and friends my whole life has made it exceedingly easy to be responsible. But responsibility takes on a different light when one considers how to be responsible for taking care of oneself. Do I brush my teeth every night? Do I eat a healthy dose of vegetables every day? Do I do my laundry and dishes on a regular basis? No. I’m afraid I do none of those things. Am I, therefore, irresponsible for myself?

For right now, all I know is that this crazy writer/artist must set aside her childhood toys (or at least better organize them). I must become an adult in my space at home. I must transform the kitchen for efficiency. And beauty. Should I get a stove? Replace the refrigerator? I must certainly pick up the bedroom. I have to remember to clean out the litter box once every 24 hours. May I still call it “forgetting” if I walk past it each morning and evening? I’ve returned to wearing my grandmother’s/godmother’s ring. I feel as though it cloaks me in adulthood, even if I still feel like I’m faking it at 35. In a recent great burst of adulthood I have returned to the idea of publishing my thesis. Academic publications certainly feel very adult, don’t they?

On the other hand, I just got developed a mountainous zit on my lower lip that refuses to erupt, I will never not wear flip-flops, and pizza is the easiest and tastiest meal in my freezer.

So the question remains - am I growing up? Or am I forcing myself to grow up? Or, disaster of disasters, am I attempting to appear grown up for those who still see me as a kid? Maybe a little of each. It’s hard to return to your hometown and not be treated like the kid you were way back when. Especially while wearing flip-flops and eating pizza, with a zit on your face.