{blooms}

A while ago, I started to write a book named "Blooms". I have stopped for a while because I'm not sure as to where I should go from here. In my life, I've probably started 12 books and never finished them. I'm actually still writing another one that is an ongoing process through my life called "Some Things That Occured To Me". Anyway, read the beginning and tell me what you think. I know it's not anything incredible but if you are a weird internet person, please don't plagarize!

"The red ticking clock is getting too loud and I only have seven more minutes. My eyes are shut but they are darting back and forth behind the lids as if sensing that there is something wonderful to be seen beyond the blackness, although I know better. One deep sigh reminds me that it’s only a blue-gray room with nothing to tempt two longing eyes from the monotony of sleep. My legs are hot but I know that the slightest movement to a cooler spot might wake him up.

I finally open my restless eyes to stop the spotty movement and think how ironic it is that the blue-gray walls, which were meant to relax my crazy mind, seem to yell out violent inadequacies at me, as I lay sweaty and disgruntled under the sheets. I wonder if it's a nice day outside? It’s probably hot.

Four more minutes to go and then the alarm with ring and he’ll wake up without the slightest indication of drowsiness while I lay here and hope for his reaching hand. I’d even settle for a foot. It’s so pathetic, this constant need for affection, and I often pretend I’m still asleep to convince myself that he didn’t touch me for fear he’d wake me up. As I start to imagine the inevitable scene, the alarm sounds across the room and he immediately stands up to turn it off. I envy how quickly he can get out of bed to start the day.

Last night’s melodramatic scene, which he’s probably forgotten all about by now, has taken a painful toll on my head from the crying. I hate that he fell asleep while I sobbed into my pillow; the worst part being that I couldn’t stand what a big deal I was making of it all. I think how immature I am acting, hardly able to stand my own train of thought.

“I love you, darling,” he says sweetly, leaning down to kiss my head.

I look up at his face and truly smile. He turns to get in the shower and a sigh escapes me along with a silent laugh as I push my head into the pillow. It’s wonderful to feel stupid about something like this.

I stand at the sink and wash the pan crusted with this morning’s oatmeal. I love our house. I know it’s small but when it’s just the two of us, it doesn’t really matter. I’m so glad that I decided to paint the walls yellow in the kitchen. When the sun shines through the window, even the walls look happy. "