The result of a fun writing prompt.

Especially pertinent to this blog's title, I am sharing the result of a prompt from a writer's group I attended today. We free-write for all prompts, so that means you keep your pen going, you don't cross out and you don't judge what you wrote. Except for a few minor edits, I have left it alone. For this particular prompt, we had 10 minutes for "You were just told that a spaceship crashed into Cristo’s Over the River drape in the Arkansas River." Read on for my fictional, satirical, locally-relevant work. (For my sake, imagine that OTR is already built):

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Who knew a spaceship would become a rivership?

Upon hearing the news, I imagine the catastrophe in my mind’s eye: a ripped drape, a broken spaceship, the gawking tourists. Karma had struck Mr. Cristo and the heavens had spoken: no Over The River project would be blessed.

As I inwardly survey the wreckage, questions fill my mind and the gaps. Are there people aboard this ship? Or is it a UFO, now clearly identified in the light of day? Will traffic be stopped in the canyon for days, like seems to happen often? Can rafters get out before the swift current smooshes the raft and dumps out its contents?

Of course, the hullabaloo in Salida will be the Over The River wreckage, the political aftermath, and more local fighting to ensue. The town of Crestone had begun séances, the informant told us, to plead the universe to bring peace as well as protection from extraterrestrials.

Traffic would be bad because of the tourists, not just efforts to clean up the mess, and all the reporters staking out to catch a glimpse of any survivors on board. I want to see the carnage myself, to not rely on secondhand information, but inevitable traffic jams stave off my impulse.

Of course, economically, the local commissioners secretly couldn’t be happier: all those reporters, extra tourists and the opportunity to erect a someday-historic sign: “Site of the 2012 spaceship crash”. Maybe the Mayan’s were right: there’s something strange about this year.

 
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I resolve to fight.

I stoop down to pick up the piece of mail I had dropped from my full arms. My flowered summer dress wafts around my legs brightly in the long, dull hall.
Such a petty thing to be doing, the prim, little secretary picking up the mail, in her dry but secure job.

It struck me then just how humbled I felt and how unexpected this job is. I have a college degree in Spanish and I'm a receptionist? Getting mail for an office as one of my primary duties? Too easy. Not to be arrogant but I say that to preserve my self-confidence, my... potential. Am I settling? Sure, I'm learning stuff, but it's far from what I want to do long-term. Then again, I never expected to "have it made" right out of college, doing work that involves my passions perfectly. I wanted a variety of experiences in work, especially medically-related, and that's what I'm getting. However, in that moment, I was suddenly aware of reaching back to the floor when I'd rather be reaching above my head!

More than that, something about this stage of life, of such routine, has sucked up the artistic reflections I normally enjoy. I don't write in my journal like I used to, not even reaching for it to jot down the especially poignant ideas. I can't remember the last time I wrote a poem. Without a piano where I live, musical musings waft away, unheard. Certainly, it's not the marriage aspect of my life that's done that--that part is great. But unlike my college days, busy though they were, this kind of work-life routine has taken much of my desire to do right-brained hobbies.

"Most men live lives of quiet desperation" wrote Thoreau. Picking up that dropped envelope made me feel that way. I've called that feeling other things as well-- a "dark force", for one. It tugs at my heart with nowhere to go; it stretches me out in a tight space. Know what I mean?

So I resolve to fight back. It's not that I don't have things to reflect on. It's not that I've stopped enjoying writing, art and music. I just need to fight to keep those hobbies that I find so fulfilling, and seek out what inspires me. That means more alone times outside. A set time to go to my parent's house to play my beloved piano and worship. Holding off dishes long enough to write down that intriguing thought. Whatever it is. In fact, I'm putting off grocery shopping right now so I can finally write this blog.

I simply refuse to be someone who gets so used to routine that hobbies are a thing of the past and work is the only thing to talk (or complain) about. I want to feel more "me" than I have been lately.

Do you?