F*ck a bunch of bullsh*t, dear reader: I’m an expert procrastinator.
As any good for-tomorrow-er knows, justification and rationalization are indispensable tools in this art. They need to be sharp and clean at all times if one is going to push things off successfully.
To wit: I’ve known the subject of this week’s writing assignment since it was posted this time last week. Did I write it right away? Hell no. Sure, I thought a lot about it; even made some notes in my Moleskine. But I didn’t sit down to actually write it until tonight, about half an hour before it was due.
My rationale? I’m way too busy. Which is true (these tools don’t work if one doesn’t believe in them, dear reader) – but I certainly could have found the time somewhere.
Anyway, this week’s writing assignment is called “The Mirror“, and you can read the full description by clicking either of the links above. Next week’s assignment was posted about 20 minutes ago, it’s called “Animals“. Go check it out. These things are wicked fun. And they’re short – 300-word limits. Which, as I’ve mentioned (ad nauseum, I’m sure), is tough for me.
And don’t forget to check out last week’s winner, The Naked Redhead – whom you will hopefully remember is a friend and supporter hereof. Here’s her winning post. Leave her some congrats from me in the comments section – I’ve already hit her up pretty much every way I know how.
So without further ado, procrastination, or verbosity, here’s my submission for this week:
I just finished eating my fairly Spartan dinner of Dinty Moore beef stew and rice. Rinsed the bowl and put it in the sink. Sat back down at the kitchen table, book still in hand, head still in the story. Pushed my chair back and rested my left ankle on my right knee as I sat back.
Something prompted me to look up at this point, and I looked directly into the full-length mirror leaning against the heater, which is next to the stove. I don’t know who the man staring back at me is. He’s clean-cut and good looking; relaxed in his t-shirt and jeans. Behind him I see the ordered clutter of my kitchen.
And it strikes me that this dude is single. For a moment, I’m comfortably surprised by this fact. I mean, hell, I cook, I clean, I’m well-groomed and handsome. My surroundings certainly don’t speak of decadence, but I’m making a decent living. Who wouldn’t want to be with the dude in the mirror?
Then I’m struck by the fact that the mirror isn’t all that clean – the image isn’t as crisp as it could be. And this makes me think of this writing assignment: how I my plan was to do something fancy to show off my intelligence. Maybe an extended anlogy, describing the mirror itself instead of who it reflects.
The old mirror as a metaphor for the subject’s character: that intense bouts of scrubbing with many and varying detergents and implements for different short periods never seems to yield the shining result strived for; that the only way it’s gotten to this level of reflection has been through consistent cleaning on a regular basis.
So I sit here, alone, admiring my reflection. Hell, maybe they’ll name a flower after me.