There is a very strange little monster who lives just in the corner of my vision where I can catch glimpses of him when things aren’t quite right. I can hear him if he whines or purrs because he’s just that close where I can never catch him.
He is often quiet…
Often unobtrusive in his existence near me…
This little creature purs when my pen moves. He makes adorable twitters when I type. I get a special jolt of love and appreciation when I finish a project. From the time I wake to the time I sleep, he matches me in drive and contentment. The perfect pet for the wayward writer in need of assertion.
My little creature requires care. He needs a controlled environment, a vivarium if you will. He needs things to smell soothing so that he can relax. He needs clear floors and countertops so that he can roam. He needs a lovely melody to help breed the atmosphere of the world he enjoys living in. As long as he has these things, he can settle peacefully on my shoulder, just out of my sight and watch me work.
There is a chore left undone
I’ll do it tomorrow
There are no smell goods about
I’ll get one later
There is no music…
I just really can’t right now.
Deal with it another day. Can’t right now. Don’t want to. I have so much more to worry about. Pile Pile Pile.
I can see him now…
He stares me down, large and foreboding — no longer sweet and cute. Massive dead glowing eyes bare down on me as I sit in an environment that belongs to neither of us and do nothing about it. He huffs — breath making my skin pimple. He shifts — dandruff from his fur making me scratch bloody. He yowls — piercing my eardrums with a ringing.
My hands won’t move.
He won’t let me create any more.
Easily driven insane by his sudden too real presence, I face him down and shake my head.
With my not-so-little creature over my shoulder, I clear the floors and bring order to chaos. His fur is tamed and no longer dusting me in his agitation. I purchase a new candle — a sweet subtle thing that smells of roses and ivy. His nose wiggles and a purr vibrates along his body as he shrinks. I pick a new playlist — something instrumental — that fills the whole place with a soft and gentle melody to stimulate our creativity. His ears flop and become adorable again.
I care for myself…
He crawls back just out of sight and twitters against my ears.
My hands lift to the keyboard again.
I smile as he relaxes against me.
We start again.
This is my creature. These are his comforts.
What is your creature like?
For More Ruminations: Tentacle Files
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