Helen Jean Wils
Updated: Dec 22, 2021
And not in the happy way Van Morrison sang about...
And now I have this weird video of me cleaning my storm door. What do I do with it? What's the point? Here's my talk-to-text:
Ya know what? Instead of curating an experience for you about the profound, underlying meaning of cleaning my storm door, I'm just going to share the stream of consciousness (insanity?) that spewed out of my head because that gig worked out so well for Virginia Woolf:
I seriously started spiraling as I tried to organize my thoughts in my head
regarding what I would write about the video of me cleaning hand prints and Wet
dog nose marks off of my storm door. Would I write about how I’m constantly
doing this to the doors windows and appliances only to find them in the same
exact state about an hour later? Would I write about how I need to buy Windex,
but would probably just water it down a few times before the cleaning solution
became completely useless? Would I write about how my dad was totally like this
when I was a kid and he would like follow us around with a Dustbuster while we
ate cookies (not over a paper plate as he had offered)?Would I write about how
my knees crack every single time I bend down and they have since I was 10?
Would I write about how I grunt every single time I get up from one of these
menial tasks and I don’t know if it’s because I am getting old and weak and tired
or if it’s because I want everybody in the room to know that I just did this menial
task for the thousandth time today?
Thanks for stopping by???