I have been writing a lot recently. At work I have been creating content and offline I have been trying to develop some bits and pieces. This morning, I finally found my way in to a short story and knocked out 500 words. My idea was to try and get it finished tonight but once again my plans were thwarted by the banana thief, my husband.
I had to pop out to the supermarket for more bananas after work because no matter how many I buy during the current banapocalyse that is going on in the household, it is never enough. It feels like I bought around 70 on the weekend. In fact, the figure may have been closer to seven, but I also bought grapes. Let’s just say that I bought enough fruit to keep Carmen Miranda in hats for a while, OK? Nevertheless, only halfway into the week I am confronted with nothing my apples once more as my husband snuck off to work, his bag bulging with contraband fruit.
I am sure if I were to confront him he would point to the bounty that he brought back to the house tonight, courtesy of the bakery that he stops at on his daily travels. He occasionally comes home with pies from the place, which he has bought en route but today he appeared with one of their house specialities: an apple and custard doughnut. This may have started life intending to be a doughnut but at some point, before it was dropped into a deep fryer, it developed the format of a turnover or pastie. While its apple and custard filling might hint at fruit, it is largely made of sugar and the whole thing is dusted with yet more sugar before it is placed out for sale. I would estimate its calorific value conservatively at around 1500 a serving. My husband bought four.
They are lying in their wrappings like deep-fried time bombs on my kitchen counter just daring me to eat one, but I do not dare. I feel that a bite from one may be just enough to rot all my teeth and simultaneously render me unconscious by way of a diabetic coma, so I have stuck to the grapes I bought tonight instead.
But my husband has not been the only one shopping. Today when I got home there was a brown cardboard package waiting for me. Two books, both by the artist Noah Scalin. One is a creativity journal with a year’s worth of daily tasks, the other is a book containing six 30 day creative challenges, or Sprints. I bought them after finishing the creative challenge as I had enjoyed the experience of trying to engage in something different.
I have no artistic ability whatsoever, in that I can not draw, have no patience with crafts and we do not have any art materials in the house. I did try an adult colouring in book for about ten minutes (my husband got all confused when he saw that I had bought the book, because he assumed that ‘adult’ meant ‘naked’ ) but did not enjoy it. The sprints, though look open enough to adapt to word play or mind mapping or something so don’t always have to be about a picture or a design.
We shall see, I guess. I have decided to start with a 30 day sprint and already know what the first two are. Tomorrow I have my task – to record as many small things as I can fit on one page – and I shall see what becomes of it. I have not broken the news to my work colleagues yet. They tend to get nervous about my projects, because they get dragged into them too. Maybe I will take them in a doughnut tomorrow to ease the pain a bit.