At any given moment, I have twenty or so works scattered around my office, stuck in a limbo between WIP and forgotten. I write a lot, almost everyday and it’s not exclusively on actual works in the rung. An idea will flicker across my brain and I give it a moment to shine. This is from a writing prompt years ago, a short little number that morphed into 50,000 forgotten words. It made me laugh after a harrowing start to the day, so I thought I’d share:
I was making cupcakes when the world ended. The world as I knew it anyway. It was at that moment I realized this is what adult looked like: wearing Grinch pajama pants perched on one leg licking homemade buttercream directly off the beaters at midnight on a Tuesday. There was no reason for me to be in this position, other than that I wanted cupcakes and I always had the stuff on hand to make it happen. This was just how I was choosing to use my free-will, on peanut butter cream. Just because I could. It was different than all the “I’m free” moments before it. This wasn’t a beer with my boyfriend at 3 a.m. the night before finals that I “could” do, but if my parents asked about it I would have told them I was up studying with my girlfriends all night long. That was now obviously the choice of a child with an overly optimistic view of the future and little concern for life beyond whatever magical moment she had fallen into. Now, I was a grown woman already loathing the overly dramatic effect I illogically assumed these cupcakes would have on my thighs and planning a 5 a.m. workout to cancel out midnight baking. I was operating with forethought and full awareness of consequences. I was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, an adult.