I got excited when I saw this week's prompt over at Sleep Is For The Weak. Josie is such a talented writer that I'm enticed to join in with her weekly writing prompt just for the pleasure of basking in her writerly halo as it casts a faint glow over my forlorn page. (Errrr... I digress. In a particularly stalkerly fashion. Sorry 'bout that. I blame the drugs.) This week's prompt is collections. 'Great!' I thought. I collect all sorts of things. But when I actually got down to it and wracked my brain to figure out what those 'all sorts of things' were I realised that I don't collect anything at all. If anything I'm an un-collector.
I think it's partly because I don't like clutter. Part of me longs for a sleek white-walled zen-like existence where there's a place for everything and everything sits very politely in it's place. But if you took a quick glance around my house you'd see we're not quite there yet. Like by a million miles. So I keep that part of me locked in a box and only let her out to shout at OH when he leaves six pairs of shoes by the front door or when the pile of magazines by the side of the bed that he's already read AND WILL NEVER READ AGAIN IS TOO HIGH! You see? Back in your box Mrs. Caaaalm down.
I don't really remember collecting much as a child either. I don't have boxes full of Barbie dolls and her minions. I don't have antique bric-a-brac from car boot sales littering the loft. I don't have walls full of pictures by the same artist that I've scoured Ebay for. And I don't have keys by the dozen (although if I did I would SO donate them to Josie for The Twitter Key Project).
If anything I collect my thoughts. Every morning before the house wakes up and wants coffee or cereal or a new nappy before the old one bursts its banks, I open my writing journal, turn to the morning pages tab and put pen to paper collecting the flotsam and jetsam that's bobbing about in my brain. Then I shut the book and get on with my life. (AKA logging onto Twitter.) Sometimes, and particularly at the moment when the painkillers for my cracked ribs kick in, I wonder what my collected thoughts get up to in those closed pages. Tea parties or raves? Car boot sales or conferences? Do they wear name badges? (Hello my name is Collections, I was written on a wet Wednesday in October.)
I wonder if I should start collecting something, and if so what? I don't have the room in my kitchen for pretty china cups (and besides, the fiddly bits annoy me). I could collect stationery I suppose, but it would be a shame to see it sitting there all unused when there's always a perfectly good letter waiting to be written. So no, I think I shall stick where I am, the un-collector and leave the real collecting to the experts. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a split personality to get back into her box.
Written for the writing prompt Collections over at the Writing Workshop on Sleep Is For The Weak.
Image: nuttakit / FreeDigitalPhotos.net