My Friends
Even those who are inanimate.
I’ve felt in a funk with writing for a little while. It happens to the best of us. I don’t think I’d be a writer if I didn’t wrestle with creativity every so often. Sometimes, when I am the my own road block, and having trouble getting out of my way, I need help. My favorite books to reach for during these times are Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott and Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg.
The following post came from Writing Down the Bones (pg. 126, prompt titled ‘Every Monday’).
I am a friend to my plushies. They keep me company when I am alone and make me feel safe. They sleep with at night, between my arms and under my blankets. Each night, they whisper, ‘sweet dreams’. And in the morning, they say, ‘time for coffee’.
I am a friend to my plants. They liven my space and make it feel cozy. They stretch toward the sun barreling through the window. Their cheery nature puts a smile on my face. There are four I call my friend: Bradley, Wade, Chappel, and Majesty.
I am a friend to my couch who holds me during all seasons: sad, winter, exhausted, spring. She is a kind friend who supports me in all ways. Her steady presence is soothing, as I know I can always count on her.
I am a friend to my espresso machine even though he does not always want to active participate in my morning routine. Some days he pulls watery. Others, he is clogged. But this is my own fault. I have not been the greatest of friends; I’m terrible about cleaning up after myself.