Sometimes I think weekends are wasted on errands. I needed to pick up and drop off some clothes from the cleaners, and was confronted by the sight of a tangled pile of wire hangers that I meant to return to the dry cleaning place.
It’s not like the offending jumble was a surprise — I could see it on the floor out of the corner of my eye when I opened my closet door. I didn’t like using the wire hangers, and I didn’t want them to take up space on the small closet rod, so I kept dropping more hangers to the whole mess every time I pulled a shirt out of the dry cleaning plastic.
So I figured I’d get it over with and give back the hangers for reuse. But once I began to arrange them, the more difficult it started to get; hangers have a hook each, after all, and each hook was twisted up with at least one other hanger. I would pull a few hangers out and find them connected with hangers in the middle of the pile, so I stopped and pulled a few hangers from another direction, and found that it wouldn’t work either.
I couldn’t tell where each hanger began and ended, and I shook the pile hoping any loose hangers would fall out. None did. And I could feel, in the back of my mind, this angry voice about to pipe up and tell me that I didn’t have time for this, that I still had to do my sit-ups and jump in the shower and eat breakfast and drink my coffee and walk the dog and I felt that I was about to scream and —
And then I stopped. I stopped right before the voice could speak. And I looked at the hangers and realized there was only one way to do this — one proper way, which was perhaps also the proper way to do things in general.
One hanger at a time.
(I managed to pack up the hangers in about five minutes.)
This is what both knowing and not knowing looks like.
Nobody gets too much heaven no more.
Your one real goal as a writer: to keep your butt in that chair.
I miss the days when people used to blog.
I'm holding the dress and I can't stop smiling.