Devonne Brown

Whatever you practice you get better at. You have to run four miles a day to run four  miles a day. If you want to make puff pastry, you have to make puff pastry. It’s not something you just get up one morning and do. It takes time and error. It’s simple, but complicated. 

 You can also practice inertia and become nothing. The older I get the harder it is for me to be motivated to do anything but be still and let the world move around me. The easier it is for me to let go of the things that once brought me pride and pleasure. 

I have a magnificent sewing machine and an office to sew in. I have so much stuff in the office it’s impossible to maneuver in there. Everything that once brought me pride is piled so high I can’t do anything with it. I downsized, but forgot to get rid of my stuff. I can’t choose my priorities. My house is like my mind. Cluttered and overwhelmed. 

I practice writing so I have an excuse to keep my mind sharp and my house cluttered. I spend time reading and writing, working and making lesson plans, grading and using technology. I don’t spend time in my house cleaning and organizing like I should. My mother would kill me. It’s driving me crazy. Literally. 

No. My son is no help. He studies all the time and does exactly as I ask. No more and no less. He gets his inertia from me. It’s scary to see. Yesterday, I asked him to blow the leaves off of the front walk and he blew them in a pile one foot away from the walk, one foot deep. A gust of wind will bring them right back. My choices are either to tell him to fix it or fix it myself. Neither one will be pleasant. I hate confrontation. The sins of the mother visited on the son.

I am a study in laziness, a potential hoarder and crazy cat lady. I’m practicing being stuck right now and that’s what I’ve become. Stuck. I need a bomb to go off in my head to bust me out of this inertia and blow me out of my own head to make me move again.