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Tuesday, May 22, 2012

That's Disgusting

"So phobic was her reaction to domesticity that she would rather have starved before boiling herself an egg."

Biographer Marion Meade on Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell is This?

Around me as I write are dusty piles of books and furry layers of dust; on my floor, hair and pollen, plus old boxes that need to be put out in recycling. In my purse are broken sunglasses; on the table is a pair of winter pants I've intended to bring to the dry cleaners for three months; and in my shower is black-orange mold that laughs daily at my can of Comet and idle threats. 

But I'm over 130 pages in to what looks, feels, sounds, smells, and tastes like a new story. I couldn't tell you for sure; I'm somewhat addled by dust that fills my senses like smog. 

I'm no Dorothy Parker; not only do I lack caustic wit but I actually enjoy scrubbing things down and making things beautiful. I believe environment, energy, and feng shui matter. My office is blessed with soothing colors--sage green, soft orange--and I enjoy inspirational posters, artwork, and a soft chair when writing at a desk no longer works. But the cobwebs, and that mysterious bug that's hung from the ceiling, and those tumbleweeds of cat hair? They somewhat dim the shine of this well-arranged room.

But my head is down and my senses are deep in the alternate universe I build. 

Occasionally I go on a cleaning spree. When a book is done, when a goal is met, things get scrubbed. Till then, I trust my nose has great filters and the body, a strong immune system. 

Just don't tell my mother.