findingexpression

awe, humility, hope and a few other things I might notice


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Restless Kate

In the bathroom with the exhaust fan on she could almost stop hearing the beating; regular, rhythmic, almost like it was living. The constant loud breath of the fan created a deafness, sometimes ringing in her ears, so that she did not know when the sounds began to blend together and form a screen of silence. She would not know when the beating stopped. Today she had to close herself away from the sound because restlessness was teasing her; it created an edge she had to retreat from. She was constantly moving, pacing, picking things up and putting them down. Futility ruled until some constructive inspiration spontaneously, gracefully, interrupted. She hoped it would be something he would appreciate, inspiration for a new recipe or a new painting, maybe she would find a great book in the boxes still stacked ceiling high in the spare room. If she could finish it before he came home, appear accomplished, like it took the whole day, it could erase this morning of restlessness.

The restlessness could not be explained, it was not a tragedy like unfaithfulness, or even perversely curious like searching the internet or shopping for frivolous objects. Restlessness was a mind trap and it was spinning around and around, the way she felt after drinking too strong coffee. The bread, when the beating stopped and the yeast rose and it was finally done gasping and screaching, that would be a small obligation met, but not enough. She knew that kneading the dough herself could be therapeutic, but instead she let the bread machine do it, even if she had to escape the sounds of its work.

Serially staring into different directions she focused her laser beams on the freckle sized age spots on her hands, kneeled to clean a line of dust from behind the door and conjured images of dancing dust bunnies and their more lethargic friend sloth. Rather more enjoying the image of the bunnies her mind leapt awake. Still frivolous but a gift, she could paint something for her nephew. She turned off the fan, left the bathroom and sat before her paints and paper. The beating had stopped. Over the next two hours as the enticing smell of warm yeast rose from the kitchen she built something, snow fell, cats yawned and restlessness was vanquished by the edges of a ½ inch filbert brush, scarlet red paint sprinkles and imaginary chocolate.

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Daily Prompt: Trembling in her due diligence

Daily Prompt: It’s 2AM and your phone has just buzzed you awake, filling the room in white-blue LED light. You have a message. It’s a photo. No words, no explanation. Just a photo. Tell us all about it. And what happens next.

Kate is trembling in her due diligence. Reviewing every broker known to humanity she is near a jittery collapse. She just spent the past 5 hours searching in the blinding over bright white screens and boldface Arial fonts, slick black backgrounds and neon highlighted type which lead her into the need to find out what all those acronyms mean. Then she went down those paths to find out why she would want ETFs or a USD RRSP and why would she bother with a VB for a simple TFSA. Gosh, who does that! Then when she checked the reviews she was compelled to investigate the reviewers, so many seem biased. So is QT ‘on the QT’ with the G&M? That would knock the foundation out from underneath their analysis, and much of hers as well. Before it got any more complicated maybe she should just ask some questions. Ahh, that involves passwords and id logins and more stenography than a grand jury case. They learn more about her from the security questions than the actual securities brokers ever will. Who is alive out there? At this hour? It could be days before anyone responded, if they even found her question interesting enough to respond at all. What does it take? 247 reads and no replies since last week? What kind of place is this?

She picks at the dry skin on her heels, tears off almost too much. Decades ago she read that dust is mostly dry skin. She believes it now, tearing at smaller pieces, scrubbing and scratching them unconsciously with her short fingernails. It was about to break into a riot, completely overwhelming her. Her phone rings. It’s a real telephone ring, “BRRRRRNG BRRRRRNG BRRRRRRNG”. She loves that with all the silent or single toned IMing, vibrational numbing and even Skype’s comforting “Shhhhhhrrrm bop” she can still find someone in virtual reality who felt that a real telephone ring was worth resurrecting into a sound file. Kate picks up the phone. It’s a picture file, no message. She puts the phone down, goes to the washroom, washes her face and her feet in warm water then gets into bed and goes to sleep. His smile always has that power over her. He will be another day late. It can wait.

Note: Canadians will understand my acronyms, maybe.