The sunset - hazy indigos blending into deep violets, with a fringe of neon orange and bright pink - is a curtain of smooth velvet behind the satin and leather of thick foliage and swaying palm trees. Tropical flora are camoulflaged as black spikes by dusk and dust. The sooty stain of car exhaust and third-world grit covers- my eyes? my windows? my perspective? I don't know, but they're there, enshrouding everything I see out of my window. It is dark and mysterious, brooding and romantic, elegant and dirty. It is everything I've ever known, exquisitely contained within a place that could not be more foreign or exotic. It is absolutely intoxicating. It is what my world has become.
I lie prone on my king-size bed, the backs of my feet dangling near my head, another Jessica Hagedorn novel beneath my hands. My thin cotton sheets are a pale butter yellow that soften the regal yellow-gold of my curtains and blend in subtly with the khaki-taupe color of my walls. Riley's crib - enormous, made of hearty wood, cherry-finished, decorated with adorable sea creature mobile and matching crib set - sits, solemn and intimidating. It looks like it could be in a boutique's display window, his colorful toys merely carefully-positioned props. My three academic medals hang from the taller side of the crib, a shiny focal point for Riley and a clever reason for me to show off to visitors and say, "This is my trophy case. Riley is my greatest prize."
Outside the largest swatch of yellow-cold brocade curtain, there is a terrace that overlooks the front street. In front of me, there is a walk-in closet. To the right of the walk-in closet is my own private bathroom, complete with a tub that's begging for bubbles, candles, and a glass of wine.
Riley and I spent the day at my grandma's, where I ate well, took a nap, and played and laughed and exercised with Riley. Riley got to spend quality time with his great-aunts and great-grandmother, bask in the glow of love and attention, and nap next to me. Now he's with his nanny, I am pouring out my brain onto the computer screen, and a stack of academic books are positioned at my side, awaiting my attention. Later on, I will study (midterms are coming up), do assignments, write fiction for a few hours, and look for more ways to make money on-line.
Rob's paid my debt to Brooklyn College, and my transcript should arrive in about 10 days. My mom's got her travel agent scouting tickets for Rob. My dad is the antagonist of a now-canceled TV show. I am poised to have a 95 average this semester. And I made enough this month via writing to afford Riley's day-to-day stuff and new clothes, and a couple of choice closet jewels for myself.
Life really can't get any better than this.
*****
I feel like there were tangible strings that I wanted to tie-in from the email I sent you, but I can't seem to find them. I just know that I want to continue blogging, and I figure the subject will make itself known as I continue doing my thing. I don't have any grand designs for internet conquest or anything, though I would appreciate making some money from every single word that finds its way out of my head. Maybe you're right: this is a good opportunity for me to figure out how to write about the simple things - because that's when the writing has to be good, right?
I'm getting my head wrapped around this idea of "no conflict." I feel like all those years of being Stephanie-esque should be enough prep for manipulating my stories and my characters. We'll see... All I know is, this is definitely a new challenge. And that's what I'm craving above all else.
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