Week 1 Prompts

Alone in a quiet room, what do I hear?

I am alone in my quiet room, the special room that I carry locked inside of me, hidden away for moments like these; moments where I can just think and be for myself. Inside this room I don't hear the kids bickering in the living room, or the phone ringing (yet again) for my teenage son. I don't hear the washer spinning off balance, or the buzzer for the clothes dryer downstairs announcing the arrival of yet another load to fold and put away. Likewise, the sound of my husband yelling to the quarterback or power forward on TV, is lightly bouncing away from my little space here.

In this room, my room, my space, I hear only the slow murmur of my heartbeat as I close my eyes. I hear the soft whirring of the fan cooling the back of my neck from the unseasonable heat. I take a deep breath, hearing all of the stress and tension float away with a small sigh. Where do all of these sounds go when I step outside of my personal space here? Do they live under the clash and bang of my crazy, boisterous life? They must, for there are random times when I begin to feel slightly desperate or overwhelmed, that I take a peek into that room for a quick glimpse to reassure me that my quiet room is there for me when I need it.   (Thursday, September 02, 2010 8:22:00 PM)
 
 
Alone in a quiet room, what do I see?

Sitting here, in a surprisingly quiet room, I see... well, I see my computer screen looking right back at me. It's actually glaring at me, through the haze of fingerprints and smudges of God-only-knows what. "How can you sit there and just type while I stand here dirty and smudged?" it asks. Well, it can wait, I have things to do here. So too can the dust that appears to have materialized overnight (yet again) and collected near the base of the suffering screen, I don't have time for that right now. With a sigh and a quick mental compromise, I decide that I will have one more cup of coffee since I am being so diligent and doing my homework first thing this morning, I head to the kitchen for a refill. What do I see? Oh dear, hmm, dirty dishes. They clamor for my attention as I walk past without making eye contact, accusing me of forgetting about them last night. Well, it was over ninety degrees in this house last night, and nothing was going to make me stand over a sink of hot dishwater. So the dishes are officially entered to my mental list of things that I still need to do today. Well, looks like it will be a busy day for me.
 
I wander back to the computer, refill in hand, only to see..sigh, my desk trash can must have been knocked over when the kids were in here playing before school. Well, that I can take care of now, it should only take a minute. Well, maybe a bit more, as I see the kitchen trash duty has apparently been forgotten by the kids before leaving for school. Trash all bagged up and put in the back porch bins, new trash bag in place, ok now back to the computer. Settling into my chair with my mostly still-warm coffee, I check the screen to see where I was in my writing. Ugh, that screen is really dirty, is that a comma or a period? Oh wait, it's neither, bleck. Forget it. There is apparently a reason that I usually wait until evening to do my school work. My days are filled with home-work, so that when I am in a quiet room and I look around, I can see my home filled with my family and memories. Yes, it's definately worth the work. Who needs another cup of coffee anyway?(Friday, September 03, 2010 10:16:00 AM )
 
 
Alone in a quiet room, but what is really happening?

I am sitting here alone. It is quiet. Strangely quiet. Hmm, suspiciously quiet. Dangerously quiet. What is really happening that I cannot hear? A house full of children, well four children, is rarely if ever really quiet, and yet it is right now.

I wonder what is going on just outside of my hearing. Perhaps my daughter cutting all of her Barbie's hair off with my sewing scissors in her bed again, leaving a silken blond layer all over her sheets and blankets. Maybe she is playing "dress up" with the makeup that she has snuck out of my cabinet in the bathroom, slathering her face with lip gloss and eye shadow. She could be playing quietly in the living room, or doing one of the word-search puzzles that I gave her to keep her busy in the car, that is what's called wishful thinking. Her other favorite, yet dangerous sport, is what she calls "playing" with her older brother. I find that the definition of "playing" is wildly different to a thirteen year old boy than it is to an eight year old little girl. However, they are quiet.

Like the quiet before the storm. Is she upstairs watching, "helping" her brother while he plays his video game? That never ends well. To a bossy, and yes I admit, spoiled little sister, "helping" involves telling her brother what to do. Is he upstairs now muttering under his breath that she better be quiet? The tension builds and builds until he can no longer tolerate her interference, then bursts in a squall of yelling and stomping feet. He has a long fuse though, like I do, but once it's lit there will be fire. It's quiet now though.

It's one of those quiets that if you think too much about it, becomes one of those uncomfortable silences that forces you up to investigate. Like the movies where the pretty girl just has to look in the dark closet where the bad guy is waiting. You know that it's out there, and you can't stand the suspense of waiting for it to come to you. It's not "quiet" anymore.

It's silence.   Waiting.          Suspense.        (Friday, September 03, 2010 3:47:00 PM )