Freewrite 1

{{Alright, this is freewrite. Basically I just started typing whatever came to mind without stopping. After that I isolated some sections, elaborated on them, forced out some more writing, and finally made a first draft of a piece to be looked at in workshop tomorrow. Lots of work to be done, but I felt like sharing the thought process }}

I’m not sure where I mam going with this or where I am beginning. I guess I could start with when I wqas a kid I drilled holes in the walls of my home downstairs in the dark where the babysitter couldn’t see and nobody was around but the triplets where watching I wouldn’t let them actually partake in the drilling because I I don’t know why not, because it was my ting? Because it was something that I was doing? Maybe. I just remember that I wanted a place for them to live and be safe. I don’t remember this vut apparently I tried to knock a hole in my aunts wall when I was little so that the spiders would ahhave a hoe. I wonder why I cared about them so much and I wonder why everyone else cared about them so little. What make sa person hate some thinf so much> A spider isn’t cute. Not cute. 8 legs, many eyes, not cuddly, In most cases all it’s bite can do is give us an itch. A dog can leave a steaming pile of crap, chew up our shoes, drool, bite and draw blood, be loud, be obnoxious, beg, demand thing s of us. I’ll very dynamic characteristics, and while a spider has none of these, they do nothing more play no deeper role than make us starer make us see them but not even make, small speck, living it’s life in warm home, unaware that we consider it a n intruder. Not cuddlt. Not demanding. In class stareing at wall, bored, at ork, bored, watxching tv lecture laying in bed lover beside me tracing circles on skin finger nail brushing slowly along arm to shoulder to neck nip of teeth on chin, bored, spider want s nothing

A drizzle of rain outside the window slowly sliding along the glass intricate rivuletds, not making a story but discovering paths and to the bottom and down pulled along by gravity. She lay on her side, arm warm against my chest caressing my arm and occasionally delivering a nip to my chin hoping to draw me from my early morning staring contest with the wall into awareness and indulgence of her wants and needs. Hoping for a long make-out before breakfast and responsibilities. Was she my responsibility? I flicker of life caught my eye, a spider, a fleck on the wall, crawled across the uppermost of my ceiling, making it’s way across like the rain drops made it’s way down. The spider didn’t pause in it’s path with wonder and curiosity like the rain though, it paused in hesitation and utmost awareness of it’s surroundings, heightened senses, attuned to the danger around it, but also the predator right? Waiting for It’s prey to step forth.

I slipped from pondering the feelings and possible quest of a raindrop into a memory from my fuzzy childhood.

Was I in need of change? What did I want, a change? Activity? I could climb out of bed, or even stay in bed, with my woman, and create the adventure I so craved

Sheets half-off and half-on my body, mind half-off and half-on like my sheets. Room lit with half-light from a half-sunrise. Sky half-clear by a half storm. Raindrops dripping a path from top of window to bottom with helf-interest.

Only pieces of the morning. Sheets half-on my body and mind half-on in the morning. Half-open eyes watching the dripping rain outside blinds half-open.

Pieces. My life is pieces.

The sheets were pulled partially up my torso and left my chest bare to the chill of morning and open to the chill of morning in a room where the heat was forgotten or the electric bill was too high last month.

The bottom line of last month’s electric bill was fairly high. At least for the pay check of a poor college student. That was the answer to my question of why it was so cold in here.

Pieces, everything was pieces.

The sheets were pulled partially up my torso and left my chest open to the chill of morning in a room where the heat was forgotten. No not forgotten, the bottom line of last month’s electric bill was fairly high. At least for the pay check of a poor college student, so in order to save money for food and books we had decided to give up heat. If only I had the energy to pull the covers the rest of the way up my body I wouldn’t be reaping the ‘benefits’ so much of this no heat business. Lying on her side, my lover tracked fingertips from elbow to shoulder. She waited patiently for morning fog to dissipate from my head. Raindrops tracked a path down the window barely lit by daylight.

Like the caresses of my lover they drew a meandering journey down. Unhurried, just following the pull of gravity, of influence.

My awareness was drawn from the path of raindrops to a fleck near the ceiling. A spider made its way across, raindrops quested downward, lovers nipped at chins.

When I was younger I had taken it on myself to shelter the homeless, the small, the weak. Spiders. How the idea got into my head that they needed this help is lost and unimportant. All I remember is taking a screwdriver to the new drywall downstairs and drilling holes for the poor defenseless arachnids.
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Raindrops slid in intricate rivulets along our window, barely lit by the morning light. Not unlike the caresses of my lover they drew a meandering journey down. Unhurried, just following the pull of gravity, of influence. My awareness was drawn from the path of raindrops to a fleck near the ceiling. A spider made its way across the powder blue vastness of our wall. Once in a while it would stop and rest before continuing onward. The spider didn’t pause in its path with wonder and curiosity like the rain though; it paused in hesitation and utmost attentiveness of its surroundings. The spider was a hunter that wished not to become prey. It knew that one false move would bring it to the attention of the sweet angel beside me and send her into hysterics that would bring a barrage of shoes and throw-able objects down upon its fragile body.

I slipped from pondering the feelings of eight legged creatures and possible quests of raindrops into a memory from my fuzzy childhood. When I was younger and found myself in a rare, unsupervised moment I took it upon myself to become the protector of the small and much misunderstood clan of spiders that had infiltrated my house. I suppose I was yet unaware that holes dug into walls with screwdrivers wouldn’t make very good homes.

Mornings such as these my thoughts cling to questions like why a spider is hated over say, a dog. They may not be cuddly and have the ability to tilt their head in that adorable way, but they also don’t slobber, bark, piss on the carpet, etc. As it were, spiders only wish to be left alone as they eat the insects that drift into our homes. They hardly warranted a second glance, but glance we did.

A sharp intake of air was the only warning I had before Jennie shrieked and rolled from my side. A cringe for my abused ear and a groan to mourn the loss of morning peace, then I was shoving all my effort into calming the woman. Really, was this necessary? We had like a half hour of cuddling left before movement was actually required, all ruined. Damn that spider. Damn that Jeanie.