Nothing To See Here

Fandango, This That and The Other wordsmith, tagged me for this “Tell the Story Challenge”, where, when tagged, we are supposed to 1) write something in response to the photo you are given (above), 2) pick a picture of your own (at the end of the post), and 3) tag three other bloggers to do the same. Here’s my take on the image Fandango gave me (and two other bloggers):

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Inspiration. There should be a boatload of it all around me, but I feel pretty much MEH about create anything at all today. Deadlines are the bane of my existence and this is a just one more nail in the coffin, which I suspect might be part of the problem. You have to admit that with death in the word ‘deadline”, it all seems a little morbid, no? Blech.

Stuck in this little room, surrounded by memories of who I used to be, it’s hard not to remember the one who once shared this space with me and never will again. Life got real and it left a mark. But, all this musing is not very conducive to inspiration, or if it is, to me it’s only crickets. Wait, could that be an old cookie I spy on the counter and why is it even there? Does no one ever come in to clean this place? Right. No one would be me. Awkward.

I look at the cracks in the old floor, remembering kids tiptoeing in to see what I was up to and how those interruptions were always the best part of the day. Scattered here and there are all the unfinished projects, in different stages of completion – or not, I was determined to finish. Books I never read but were on the list stare at me in accusation. Paintbrushes I forgot to clean, which are now useless for everything but stirring the paint they were meant to spin into art, ditto. Once this place ruled but all the creativity has been sucked out, leaving it merely expendable, redundant — and empty.

So I sit, watching the late afternoon light spilling onto the detritus of what used to be my busy life of partner, now an often unrecognizable solo. But this is the best light of day, these late hour glints, where dust floats in glimmering rays. They cast a benign glow on the peeling ceiling and showcase the empty tea cup that really should have been cleaned. But then, who really cares?

Deadlines be damned! I’ll sit this one out.

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Okay, peeps, my three tags go to:

Ana at The Abstract Muse

The Wittiest Widow

Deb at Widow Badass

 

Let’s what kind of story these word stars can tell about this image:

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