Day 2: Apparently I’m Concerned with Death

Welcome to Day 2 of Ilene writing about nothing. The fine folks at 750words.com have informed me that my most recent entry was rated PG-13—apparently for swearing, violence and/or sexual content. I guess some people get turned on while grocery shopping. Who am I to judge? The stats also tell me I’m feeling upset and concerned mostly about death, which seems a bit extreme. I only killed a couple of shrubs for god’s sake—it’s not like I’m growing hemlock in the backyard. Sheesh…

Okay, here is an excerpt from yesterday’s writing challenge:

I think I’ll try writing on an actual topic today, rather than just letting my subconscious spew strange combinations of words. Today’s topic: Clutter. I’m not just talking about the brain clutter that encourages me to write about nothing. I’m talking about the fourteen water bottles I just pulled out of an overstuffed kitchen cabinet…

The problem with clutter is that it’s everywhere. As soon as I finished one cabinet, I moved on to the light bulb/candles/dog treats area (because these things make sense together). Next will be my arch nemesis, the tupperware lair that almost caused a divorce back in 2006… Every time we need to get something, an avalanche of lids tumbles into the dark corners where nobody wants to reach a hand, for fear of retribution by the denizens of the kitchen underworld. I’m not saying we live in utter filth, but I once saw a toddler-sized cockroach leaning against a crock pot smoking a doobie. We nodded tentatively at each other, as I slooowly backed away. Respect.

So now I’m kind of obsessed with getting rid of shit. I’m reading an ebook about minimalist living, and it’s making me feel inferior and wasteful… So what if I own three pairs of slippers and watch TV when I should be communing with nature? Have you seen nature lately? It’s hot and itchy.

In other news, have you ever killed a cactus? I have. I’m not proud, but it’s kind of cool to be the only kid on the block to murder desert flora. I’m like the angel of death of south Austin. If you ever want to “accidentally” kill vegetation to make room for something better, like a rock garden, give me a ring.

Oh, I went grocery shopping with Mr. Weenie today… He eats the same thing every week, which seems fascist to me, but I keep my yapper shut. Meanwhile, he spends quite a bit of time waiting for me to feel up fruit and check labels. In the past this might have led to frustration and arguments, but then came the magical shopping accessory called “The iPhone” (cue heavenly rays of light and background chorus). What a marriage saver. Unfortunately, the iPhone was left at home today, so I found myself breaking out into a cold sweat as I rounded each end cap at light speed, trying like hell to finish shopping before Mr. Weenie self destructed.

The challenge is in reading Mr. W’s face. His look of “I’m totally chillin,’ babe. Take your time.” looks a lot like “I’m going to fucking stab somebody if I have to watch you compare prices of feminine hygiene products again.” Thus, a trip to H.E.B. is like a roller coaster ride with all the fear and none of the excitement—unless you count the  parking lot on Sundays when church lets out, which is awesomely terrifying…

That’s right, folks, I wrote 750 words about tidying house and grocery shopping. I’m sure you’d like to see where you can get the past 8 minutes of your life back. Try customer service.