i found this website a while ago and thought it would be a fun way to pass the time whilst keeping what little skills i had fresh. i've never been very good with the arts, at least not compared to my infinitely more talented friends. i blame stats. and policy memos. my entire post-grad experience, really - mpa curriculum doesn't exactly lend itself to writing of the creative variety. although i guess there's a fair bit of self-selection going on there. anyway! i've decided to pick writing prompts from the site at random and run with it.
i started with number two: "a picture is worth more than a blank page. take out those dusty photo albums. pick out photo fourteen. count however way you like, but make sure you stop at photo number fourteen. look at the photo for two to three minutes, then for ten minutes, write all the feelings that photograph made you feel. don’t censor yourself."
i only have one photo album and it’s sort of a catch-all that covers the day i was born up through grad school. i decided to count the last picture on each page, and fourteen pages in, the bottom-most picture was this one:
i’m overwhelmed with guilt. that poor, poor gerbil. i understand the appeal of putting a little critter in a clear plastic ball so he can explore his surroundings without threat of escape into a hole he can’t retreat from, or worse yet, fear of being stepped on. but we thought it’d be fun to let our beagle, tasha, play with the ball. i mean, the gerbil can’t actually get hurt, right? but the terror! i had two gerbils. i don’t know which one this is – not only because they looked perfectly alike but also because i changed their names every month or two. god i treated them so callously. i don’t even remember doing this, but that is definitely my ring on that finger, so i’m busted. and because i’m wearing that ring i’m at least twelve. i really should know better. and to back up a moment - i did say “we” up there – “we” thought it would be fun. someone is taking this picture – likely my mother. the accomplice.
another thing i’m noticing is how young and vibrant tash looks. my most called upon memory of her is how she looked on the day my mom had to put her down – literally an old lady version of this. bloated, grey, sad-faced. i never thought that i was doing myself or tash a disservice by remembering her that way, but now that i’m revisiting this picture i’ll do better to think of her as the happy doggie she was for twelve or so years.
finally, why the hell did we decide this was a moment to capture on film? and furthermore, why did i include it in the album? have i changed so much so quickly that i’m this deeply offended and embarrassed now by something that i didn’t think twice about (or even, gasp, looked upon fondly) a mere three years ago? should i really be this upset? do all kids do this? and if they do, do their mothers typically stop them? i don’t mean to throw anyone under the bus here, but seriously ma, what were we thinking?
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in other news... i just finished another book that's been sitting on my shelf (#6):
"lottery" by patricia wood
1 comments:
Obviously, even level headed adults can have lapses in judgement, guilty as charged. However, in my (our) defense, here's what we were really thinking...and this recollection may be tainted by a strong desire to paint a prettier picture. We thought the gerbils would have fun! And, think back and remember that immediately upon seeing Tasha foaming at the mouth intent on devouring the poor thing, we haulted this misguided game. Maybe this is why I'm now an frequent donor to the Humane Society!
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