Cluttered Mess of Self

She slips off her shoes with her toes. She turns on the light while shaking her coat off with her shoulders as she tosses her laptop bag in the papason next to the fireplace. She is home after a long day of working on various task, various parts of her life that needed tending to. Now, all she wants to do is pick up the trail of clothes that leads from the bedroom to the bathroom from the morning’s blurry rise. She smiles at the thought that she is picking up her history and piling it with assorted pieces of her past heaped in the corner of her bedroom. Tomorrow she’ll wash these yesterdays reinventing them into the today’s of tomorrow.

It’s as simple as that, she thinks to herself, trying to transform stagnate feelings into something new and possible. Of course, she knows the routine will be the same tomorrow – The trail of clothes as she makes her way to the bathroom, the dandruff of coffee grounds on the counter, and the coffee stained cup sitting unwashed on her kitchen table. Sometimes this varies and the cup is left on the end table next to the remote. Sometimes she actually gets dressed in her bedroom.

But she loves this routine like she loves to smile. She thinks most people just see her as a cluttered mess of self, but for her this is a ballet between morning and night. This is her dance.