Writing Practice

Total experiment here.

I get an airy-fairy feel-goody but often worthwhile newsletter from this woman who does writing workshops. Actually I could enjoy going to one, but they are always on the West Coast. I don't want to go THAT much. So here's a piece from today's newsletter:

Each morning in Taos we started our writing practice by listing 10 things we had noticed since our eyes opened. A single raindrop in a spider web, blueberry muffins baking, twirl of cotton skirt against my legs, coyotes yipping, soft sponge of scrambled eggs...

Here are mine, 20 minutes into my day:

1. How before I open my eyes I typically know what time it is. Sometimes I'm surprised, but I ocasionally play a game of guessing and I typically can get within a few minutes.
2. Dropping the toothpaste tube on the floor and missing it the first time I bent over and did a quick swipe. How ageing makes me concentrate on a task I would never given a thought to.
3. Taking a pill and since it's so little, it sometimes floats in my mouth rather than going down and the feeling of this little pill against my teeth.
4. The smell of the "honey vanilla" body wash. Can't decide whether I like it or not -- I think I'm more of a floral girl, but I do like the sultriness (oh baby) of this smell.
5. How much I love the water pressure in my apartment. I want that shower to be like a fire hose.
6. How much thinner my hair feels when I wash it than when I was young. It takes less shampoo/massaging for me to feel it's clean.
7. The miracle of hair conditioner. I have a tangled thin mess of hair, all snarly, and then the conditoner transforms it into an easily-combable situation.
8. The padded feeling of my bathroom rug under my feet.
9. Walking nekkid past the airconditioner and feeling that cool blast on semi-wet skin. My cheap thrill for the day.
10. That tiny second of pleasure and relief when I turn on my computer for the day and the lights and screeen spring into instant action. Never take that for granted.