Upon arriving home from work today I realized that my drilling of "don't forget your notebook, don't forget your notebook..." as I went about my work day was little help. I ended up leaving my notebook at work...more specifically my Relief Society binder, something that I could not do without on a weekend. It is my lifeline to my duties that seem to start Saturday morning and end Sunday night. SO, after throwing in my first batch of laundry, (there ended up being 5 tonight), I drove all the way back to north Ogden, unlocked the building, grabbed my binder (and my Gardettos), reset the alarm, and drove all the way back home. I made good time...a cop followed me for about 8 minutes. I believe I may have been speeding as I passed him on the side of the road. Funny, I saw him but was so much enjoying my windows rolled down and singing "This is the New Year" by Ian Axel, that I smiled at the cop and didn't even bother looking at my speedometer. Ha! I'm very certain he had every intention of pulling me over. I even turned down a very random street to test my theory....he was, indeed, following me. However, something possessed him to let me off the hook and he turned down a different street after I came to a complete stop at a stop sign across the street from the temple. The irony. I was grateful.
As soon as I got home, the sunglasses were off and I was putting another batch in the wash. I realized something...I actually enjoy doing my laundry. Simple epiphany, I know, but I have to wonder, what is it exactly that would possess me to turn down a perfectly good bonfire I had been invited to on a perfectly good friday night by a perfectly decent stranger to sit at home and listen to the clinking noise of my jean zippers on the sides of the dryer?? Doesn't make much sense, I know but there it is nonetheless. My Friday night was just beginning and my personal enjoyments/kicks and giggle for the evening were coming alive.
If you know me, you know I love movies. Netflix is pure manna from filmmakers heaven ::sigh:: It has been a long while, sadly, since I've had time to turn on a new flick and say I enjoyed something. Having 5 batches of laundry, however, proved a perfect excuse to turn something on to fold freshly laundered clothes to. I picked a show I hadn't heard much about but couldn't have been more pleased. "Julie and Julia". Brilliant. I am big on inspiration. I recall going to see "p.s. i love you" in the movie theater when I lived in California. I was big on going to matinees then and on one particular day that was the winner. I bawled my eyes out. I don't do that a lot in movies, especially in public, but there I sat, the theater basically empty except for 3 older tender hearts on the back row of the theater (also bawling their eyes out). I don't recall ever watching anything that made me think as much as that movie did at that time in my life. I went home all ponderous and whimsical-like in wondering who I was and what I wanted to do with myself. Where was my "muchness" (as the Mad Hatter would say) and how could I find it?
Creative as my brain is, I immediately picked up a notebook and began simply putting things down on paper. Why? I hadn't the foggiest. But I did it. Did I find my muchness with a paper and a pen? No. Don't be sad, that's not the end of my story.
So I'm watching "Julie and Julia" and getting a lot of the same feelings I had once upon a time in that dark theater in California. I'm loving the movie, the concept, the acting, the detail and all of sudden I'm feeling much more meaning in every small moment I'm blessed to be having as I'm doing my laundry and going about the house. Of course it pushed me right into writing this all down tonight. I can't believe how easy it is to just let the words come. Once upon a time I used to be able to do this in my journal or in little stories I would begin writing, but of course I would never finish them and I would always get away from writing. I'm grateful for this release. If no one ever reads a single word I write I would never care. It is given me opportunity to have experiences and to be able to express them as I will. So what if I'm not clever or smart in my writing? Who cares if I don't touch the universe or plant a seed that inspires someone as I have been inspired in times past. Sometimes we do things for the good of ourselves and the detoxifying of our heats and souls. This is healing and therapeutic in my little world. This is real and contains substance that reads "Kelsee" all over it. Through words straight from my thoughts and heart, I'm learning more of who I am.
Did you know that I have a sock monster in my house? or possibly just the washroom...or my bedroom. It's true. Somehow I always end up with lonely socks, lying helpless next to all the other socks who have mates. I am saddened for them. Where are their better halves??
Maybe in New York, like mine ::sigh::
Time to say goodnight.