Away for a day

Of distractions and pillows

I went away for a day, no big deal, and thought missing the evening distractions might roust some creativity from my bones. Instead, I struggled to get my personal hotspot rolling, unsecured opportunities being what they are. That could be a euphemism, but I’m just not that kind of girl.

I ate late, inhaling the pasta with white beans and fresh sage I grabbed from the fridge before hitting the road, relieved to not need the diner the clerk at the desk recommended to a lady from North Carolina who checked in just before me.

I dreamt of someone trying to steal my wallet from a purse she was returning to its place on the back of a chair. She locked her gaze on mine, hands busy with bills slipped from their slot while I insisted she stop. Twenty-five dollars, her haul as it were, and the way her face fell when she finally let go compelled me to turn around and give it all back to her. 

She wept. And my pinheaded self said to not spend it on crap, as if that might make some kind of difference.

At just over a hundred bucks, it was a budget stay in a functional space with “Soft” and “Firm” stitched onto pillowcases but otherwise lacking in whistles or bells, except the alarm that sounded well after I’d given up on more sleep. Not exactly a night from hell--I know how those go--but it was uncomfortably close, and the covers were sideways when I left them.

While I gathered myself and my things, blinds drawn against the parking lot just out the window, I imagined the squirrels quarreling in the trees back home, and the venturesome bunnies that sometimes shoot up in the air, like popcorn.

I’d be there by nightfall, with news of the day, to find a bouquet of wilted flowers on the counter, the predictable preoccupations, a touch of poetry, and my own ridiculous trio of pillows.

~Elizabeth