I'm having writers block. It's a serious medical condition that can only be treated with chocolate.
Because I have no chocolate at my house I sifted through old blog posts, high school short stories, and junior high poetry. My life use to be filled with adventure. Whether it was mustard colored dryers, door-to-door sales men, or neighbors showing up whilst I sat around in my undies (this actually still happens. . .) I always found experiences to write about and analogies in the simplest of circumstances. All this sifting dropped the cold, hard truth on my sinus-infected noggin: My life just isn't exciting anymore.
Then again, it wasn't that exciting before, was it? I merely allowed myself to be excited over mundane and mediocre. Like opening a jar of bouillon. And I learned about myself and the world from the simplicity of a speed bump or lasagna. I miss this.
Today I set out to find something ordinary that could be molded into extraordinary from which I could learn a life lesson. Surely I have not lost this ability and I was determined to prove it to myself.
At 7:45 Andrea woke up. After retrieving her from her crib I laid her down on the floor for a diaper change. Her eyes squinted at the lights as she pulled her nightgown over her face. I opened her diaper and found a little nugget surprise. Usually she's just wet in the mornings. Poop analogy? Probably not a good idea. . . We finished up the diaper change and cuddled up on the couch for Andrea's breakfast. Her little hand patted my arm for a while before her fingers pinched into my skin and her sharp nails almost drew blood. Time to cut them. Nail clipping analogy? Nah.
After nursing, Andrea was buckled up in her highchair for her morning oatmeal. Her new little tooth scraped the spoon after every bite and she smiled and clapped at my load-the-dishwasher song. The reaction inspired me to add some dance moves to the morning routine, but as I stumbled around the kitchen like a wounded bovine my uncoordinated feet seemed to find every baby puff that Andrea had banished to the floor. Cereal crunching analogy? Hmm. I retrieved the vacuum and gave my kitchen floor a little t.l.c. while Andrea played peek-a-boo with the counter top and my rocking chair. Peek-a-boo analogy?
Once the floor was clean I sat my daughter on the rug in the living room. Sitting analogy? She reached for her toy bucket and pulled out a book. Reading analogy? She flopped on to her tummy. Flopping analogy? She smiled at her rubber duck and drooled. Drooling analogy? I sniffed. Sniffing analogy? Toenail polish removing analogy? Phone charging analogy? Where's-my-chapstick analogy? Andrea!-Don't-chew-on-Daddy's-shoe analogy?
My analogy search wasn't going well until I had an epiphany. My other analogies weren't something I sought after. They sort of fell on me like a house on a witch. Like anvils on Wile E. Coyote. Like flower pots on Donald Duck. Despite how painful that list of similes may sound, I enjoy the possess. So, now I'm just waiting and occasionally looking up hoping at any moment a new understanding of the simple everyday will lead to another lesson learned.