My Pitcher
I'm closing in on 45. I live in the back room of my mother's house. I struggle week to week just to make ends meet. I'm undereducated and over mouthy. It would be hard to say my life is right on track.However, there was a time, not too long ago, when things were much worse. A time when I was living out of my car. A time when I had been living on the fringes of society for so long I wasn't sure how to get back or if I even wanted to find my way back. I'm not sure how, but I managed to find a little job, in a little town and a little apartment to go with it.
With almost no possessions the vast emptiness of the apartment confused me. 1 fork, 1 knife, 1 spoon, 2 bowls, 2 mugs, 2 towels, 2 washcloths, a toothbrush, a sleeping bag, 2 blankets, 3 pillows. The sum of my kingdom. No matter how I arranged things the emptiness remained.
After cashing my second paycheck I decided I'd better at least get some things for the kitchen. I wandered the aisles at Rite-Aid not knowing what to buy. I'd done without for so long it seemed like I had everything I needed. Finally, I settled on a pitcher to make juice and a wooden spoon.
It was another two weeks before I actually used the things, but I enjoyed just looking at the pitcher. I liked the roundness of it, the simplistic design, the sturdiness of it. Sometimes I would just stare at it.
I've never admitted this to anyone, but sometimes, when things got really bad, I would sit and hold my pitcher. The feel of it grounded me, made me feel more human. It helped bring me back from the edge.
I still have the pitcher. I haven't sat with it in years, but lately, I've been tempted.
I don't think this story is part of My Bad Art show. It's just something that's been on my mind. I would love to know what you think.
Are you going to let me know what you think? Are you going to leave me some love?drops of love from The Unknown at
19:23
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15 love left for me
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