Week #4 Prompts

15. You have a friend, lover, s.o., parent, whomever--and you have a magic potion. Once they take it they will tell you the absolute truth for one minute. Who do you give it to and what do they say?

There are times when I am talking to someone, or maybe asking them a question that I really wonder if they are giving me the real answer, or really what they are thinking. Sometimes that is a kindness, do I really want to know how everyone's day has been? Or how they are feeling today? Maybe not. There are exceptions to this rule of course, as there are to all generalities, and I think that for each person there must be at least one exception.

By definition, an exception is something special, out of the ordinary, and (straight from Merriam-Webster) a case to which the rule does not apply. Everyone lives by the rules of exception. I think that if you are really lucky you have someone in your life that is an "exception" to that rule. I consider myself one of those lucky few, to have an exception in my life. For me, my exception, my special rule-does-not-apply person, is my mom. She is the one person, that no matter what the situation, or question, I would want to hear exactly what she was thinking. So could I imagine one person that I would give a magic potion to? One that would cause them to tell you the absolute truth about everything? Yes, yes I could.

14. Wishing? Lying? Dreaming? Dancing? Boxing? Cooking? What is writing like for you?

It's time. Time to get ready to go.

I go into the kitchen and get my drink, the box of special crakers that I hid from the kids, and head into my room where the computer is. Setting those things down, I realize I forgot the phone, and my cell phone. I wander through the house collecting these bits and pieces that I will need and approach the computer chair.

I figure that I should open the window (which is right next to my chair) but make sure that the curtain is fully closed so that the sun doesn't blind me as I look at the screen. I hit the button to turn on the computer, and make myself comfy in my chair while slipping off my shoes. The welcome screen pops up before me, then disappears while my programs load. I open the crackers and take a drink of my soda (no ice because it just melts after a while and makes it taste terrible).

I hit the internet explorer icon and again my computer charges forward, connecting me to the world wide web and all it has to offer, but narrowing itself to my blogger homepage for now. At the last minute I decide I need to go to the bathroom. I might as well go now so that I don't have to stop what I am doing later and risk losing my rhythm.

Ok, bathroom done? check. drink? check. snack? check. phone close by? check. window open and curtain closed? check.

Reading the instructions for the week a couple of times over lets my brain stretch and wrap around the words and ideas they convey. I sit and ponder a bit, warming up my brain, thinking about where I want to go. Having thought about it all, all warmed and stretched out, I mentally hear the starting gun and my fingers begin to type.

On your mark, get set, go.

13. What inanimate thing do you wish could talk?

Driving along in the car I play the what-if game. I do this all of the time since the radio is mostly just annoying to me while I drive. Usually it's "what if I won the lottery?" or "what if we moved to Tennessee?" - today it was "what if I was on Survivor? what would my one item be from home?" (prompted by my recent conversation with hubby about the some of the craziness on Survivor)

So tooling down the road, I mentally flip through my special, personal items that would remind me of home and my life. Not clothes, pictures? No. The one thing that I could think of was my coffee cup. Chuckling at what my poor cup would think of whatever craziness I would be drinking out of it on Survivor, certainly not my perfected brew of half-decaf coffee I make at home.

Playing along with the daydream, I wonder what my poor would say about its well-used, and much loved life in my hands? Would it chastize me for the time that I left it in Tennessee by mistake? It took a week of threats to my mom before she carefully wrapped it (in bubblewrap) and sent back. Would it complain about the permanent stain on the bottom, from years of stirring in the sugar each morning? As I glance down and look at my cup, sitting next to me with the last bit of this mornings coffee in it, I smile. Maybe I love it cause I can identify with it?

I'm not much of a Disney fan for the most part, but when I saw it in the store with Grumpy (looking rather hung-overish) on the front in a bathrobe and slippers, I had to have it. It looks much like I do sometimes I think, first thing in the morning, endlessly searching for the kids missing sneaker, or misplaced homework. Inside the rim, much like the post-it notes that I leave as reminders on the bathroom mirror it says "Wake up Grumpy." It makes me smile. How can a coffee cup be so much of me? How can I sit and talk about something like a coffee cup for so long anyway? I don't honestly know, but it's true. I wonder what it would have to say about me?