Crazy Kitchen Lady

A ramble through my own thoughts

 

I stand up, sit down again, and rise once more. This house is so very quiet without children’s feet battering the varnished floorboards, raised voices in discordant harmony, even the dog has settled at last, to sleep on the doormat.

 

I run one chipped nail along the spines of my CD’s, looking for a soundtrack for my numbness, settling momentarily before moving on to the next. The Eagles is good melancholy music, I pause to listen to my internal workings but nothing stirs at the chance of Wasted Time unlocking what lies beneath this stone-cold, raggedy exterior. Alannis Morissette; too bitter, Sheryl Crow; too happy, Nickelback is just too angry. All of them rejected and I turn away to let the silence play out.

 

Sitting amongst the detritus at the kitchen table, school notices, receipts, bills to be filed, I wonder idly what ever happened to happy mail. Then I remember that Happy Mail was just an illusion, a myth created by my mother. A letter in the post, one that made the child in me swell with pride and importance to receive, was simply another chore to be done. Sunday evenings sat swinging my legs on an oversized dining chair as I scratched out a list of my news onto cheap lined paper with a bitten pencil, it’s point purposefully sharpened for making letters almost to fine too be seen.

 

The chair is too straight against my hunched shoulders but I don’t move, the discomfort reassuring me that I can still feel something even if it is external. My eyes lower to the floor, narrowing automatically at the collection of hair and dust at its edges, I follow its trail to the cabinets, dark stained drips never wiped and long since dried lead the way to the sink brimming with more dishes than it was designed to hold. When did I last sit in this kitchen now mine? I lose myself in the counting of days, a month or two, picturing the dates written on the annual leave card I had to hand back along with my notice. Long enough for this to accumulate obviously.

 

I laugh, a coughing sneer of sound. It rises to echo from the painted yellow walls of my newly inherited kitchen, inside my newly inherited house. Mine. The stigma of a dirty house penetrating my careworn heart more sharply than that of having a husband leave me. To the waiting world beyond the smeared windows both reflect badly on me but only one cuts deeply. Maybe I am crazy after all or maybe the reason for my numbness is because there is nothing to feel.

 

I put the stereo onto shuffle and twist the volume with a jerk, I was looking for soul music when what I needed was cleaning music. Still smiling, I run the hot water into the sink.

Author's Note

This is a little self-indulgence that I may well delete when the wind changes.

Reviews

[kollaboratyve]

I was just reading your story, and I'd like to return the helpfulness that you have shared with me. The story is solid but, there are some glarring grammatical errors.

1.happened to happy mail? (should have a period it is not a direct question)
2. it's point purposefully sharpened (should be "its" it show possession
3. Long enough for this to accumulate obviously. (Fragmented, incomplete thought)
4. I laugh, (incorrect use of comma)
5. The stigma of a dirty house penetrating my careworn heart more sharply than that of having a husband leave me. (again fragmented)
6. but only one cuts deeply. (noun does not agree with the number-cut- instead of cuts)
7 jerk, (two complete but related sentences should be seperated with a semicolon)

I hope these grammatic suggestions help your mastery of the structure of the English language and as an American saying goes the pot must be careful in calling the kettle black.

[Leigh]

Interesting social commentary which is as relevant and as any profound piece trying to convey big messages. Its not self-indulgent at all, the way you have brought normal life to the table is extremely difficult to do

[LJW]

I really appreciated the "self indulgence", made it sound as if you lived through this and you were recollecting your actual perceptions. Good job.

[Lilly]

Many would relate I'm sure.
An enjoyable read.
Some poetic lines/descriptions here add to this piece.

Well done :)

[Lauren Marie]

I really liked this story. It's one that a lot of people can relate to. I felt connected with the speaker, I felt the weariness of all the things that needed to be done, I felt the realization, I felt the sudden happiness of cleaning ... connecting a reader to a story is the way to do it!

I hope you don't mind that I'm reviewing this after it's been on the site for so long. At any rate, I liked it!
~Lauren

[Sabine]

The lines are so poetic at times, and at other times so well-grounded.

You write,
"The stigma of a dirty house penetrating my careworn heart....

I enjoyed reading your story and very much like your writing subject and style. Blessings, Sabine*

[Forest Green]

Self-indulgently revealing. I was relieved, I must admit, that you set Cheryl Crow aside...;)

Walking through the staid afternoon of a life touched by poetry.

Nice work...!. :)

Daniel

[Kelley Pascoe]

I just love reading your work Faeshifter! I never know if I'm going to laugh or cry....smiles
Anyway great work and thanks for sharing.
Kelley Frost

[Wildecat]

I have actually been in a similar situation myself, this was an enjoyable read. Congrats on the novels. I love magic and fantasy. And read Mercedes Lackey and Jane Linkskold.

[Angel Baby]

Truly enjoyed your write, captivated me....thank you!