let lemons be angry

Just one of the things that keep me from banging my head against the wall in the morning. Nah, it isn't so bad.

Yesterday, inspired by Lucy going to look for Aslan in the woods, I went into the garden to look for God. The clouds looked menacing, so I took a bus round the bend to macs and let it rain. And I sat there doing Only Child things like writing with an imagined audience in mind, and watching france-italy euro highlights.

"Were you a quiet child?"
"Yes, cos there was nobody to talk to at home," I said, but then realised that no, I did talk a whole lot to myself, to imaginary husbands and daughters, to imaginary co-scientists and farmers, to imaginary criminals.

I haven't evolved much then, from that time. I still talk to imaginary yous and play out best and worst scenarios, and practice saying things I might find trouble with when the time comes.

I haven't evolved much from my Cinderella playacting days either. I used to sweep the balcony and clean all the glass surfaces everyday, whispering in third person, "she's so beautiful," playing Cinderella's admirers and animal friends and potential princes all at once. Many years later, I again find inexplicable solace in cleaning the house, still wielding that magic spray bottle of glass cleaner. I scrubbed the walls of the kitchen up to the ceiling and polished all the wooden cabinets. I climbed onto the counters to dust the cabinet and fridge tops, and to degrease the hob.

No "she's so beautiful" to keep me going. But cleaning and princes do come hand in hand, as if cleaning clears a path for princes to come visit, or cleaning erases the "someday my prince will come" attitude of less hardworking princesses like Snow White and Ariel. Cinderella didn't spend her time singing about legs and forks and how her "collection's complete." She sang and cleaned the house joyfully and was happy to be with her bird and mouse friends. She was unjustly treated by the woman her father stupidly married, but dealt with her fate by doing her best.

Therefore I have new respect for the princess I once thought the dowdiest of the lot.