Today was a good day. Despite the rain and feeling particularly drained in the earlier part of the day, I am ending with a smile that stretches my mouth wide. I don’t know if it’s the late cups of coffee or a beautiful boy singing a song sweet enough to shatter a heart, but I am genuinely happy right now.
I believe I’m going to marry a musician; there’s no way around it.
If I were to marry a musician, he could idly strum his acoustic guitar in a relaxed, reclined position on the couch and as he lounged, I’d rest patiently at his feet. My back against the couch where I leaned for support, I’d have a marble notebook open with the cover flipped back, my knees serving as a writing desk. We’d be complete, we’d be creative and we’d be happy. We’d be beautiful.
My family is completely supportive of my writing career. They believe in me and my talent and I know they would do all that they could to help me realized my dreams. However, they are not as constantly passionate as I am and very few are creative to the point where they’d like to make it a career. There is nothing wrong with that, and I do not intend to villify anyone. It’s just that tonight’s writing prompt is about going on strike at home until demands are met, demands which dictate a supportive writing environment. I do have a supportive writing environment – if anything, I’m just not utilizing it.