Michelle's Daily Movements

It was early morning when Michelle sat at her desk, propped her cordless phone onto the bookshelf next to her and dropped her mobile two shelves below and carefully placed her hot chocolate on the coaster on the shelf between them.

The computer hummed, ready for her to type… to edit… to delve into the other world of her being the writer, instead of the person everyone knew.

Her brain switched into the other mode she knew so well as she slid into her business-style chair and turned it around – away from the door – and began to type.

Her hands sped across the keyboard, as the world she had created within her mind expanded, fleshed out, became her own, and the characters within her world ran, stabbed, killed, ate, drank and made love to each other in such a way she felt as though they were her own friends… and she had a private little camera crew showing of their lives. 

Once in a while, she’d turn and take a long gulp from her sweet  hot chocolate and read over what she’d written, correcting her spelling, groaning over how she didn’t write this or that better (and fixing those things up as she place the mug between her arms and typing quickly; allowing the warmth of the mug to touch her arms before she’d pick it up again and keep on reading). 

Before she knew it, Michelle had finished her few chapters – her 3,000 word limit had been reached – and she had long drunk her hot steaming mug.  It was time for a shower.

She scrubbed the chilliness that had settled into her pores, hoping the stinging heat of the water would warm her at some point.  Steam rose around her, worming into her sinus’, wetting her hair, and sending temporary shivers up her spine.

She had been still too long and the cold of the day had set into her joints.  She hated this, but she needed to get herself warm for the next part of her day.

Work.

This was another kind of work that people knew she did but didn’t think she took seriously.  She worked the craft markets and so worked on craft pieces for hours on end… sitting still at her back door at a craft table.  Her hands always moving, her mind moving, but her body staying completely still – really frustrating – but what she got finished was great!

After finished blow-drying her hair, brushing its frizziness, she snapped on her watch, blew her nose on a tissue before throwing it away and then pulled on her ugg-boots and turned off the bathroom light and walked back into the office to collect everything she needed to go downstairs.  Grabbing the camera – in its snood – the cordless phone, and mobile phone and looping her fingers through the handle of the empty mug, she checked the computer, to make sure it was switched off, and then turned and walked out the door, shimmied past the hall table and down the steep stairs to the living room. 

It was freezing down here… but she was dressed warmly in her paint-covered track pants and jumper.  After putting down the empty mug in the kitchen, she walked to the stereo system, push the button ‘Video’ for the turntable and flipped through her collection to choose the music for the afternoon.  This would keep her from getting cold and make sure she was active every few minutes.  The first album of Santana’s ‘Moonflower’ was selected and she put on the second album side 2 on… sweet!  Drum beats started and she boogied her way around the living room as she picked up the remote and upped the volume, loving how this music got her moving every time!  Bopping her head, she opened the fridge, grabbed one of the covered paint plates and put it onto the paint-covered denim mini-skirt she used as a rag for her brushes.  Then, she danced out to the cheap clothes horse where a few picture frames were set out drying, chose one, boogied backed to her craft table, slipped into her bright green swivel chair, pulled back the plastic, grabbed the bottle of flow medium and got the paint working – making it thinner without losing consistency – and then grabbed a paintbrush and began working on painting a fine, dainty vine around the picture frame…

Three hours passed and Michelle had changed the vinyl four times, organised a drink for herself, grabbed something to eat, waited for two coat hangers to dry, painted six sprung pegs, five dolly pegs and finished up one picture frame… yep, a lot of had happened. 

Most of all, the afternoon had begun to turn into night… the shadows had begun to turn dark across the backyard and the house was becoming darker. 

It was time for dinner – at 4pm.  Michelle decided pizza would be perfect.

She pulled out a large metal bowl, self-raising flour, dry yeast, olive oil and a ¼ cup of hot water.  She sifted the flour, put in a teaspoon of yeast, about a tablespoon of olive oil and put in the hot water then grabbed the wooden palette from next to the stove where the other utensils were stored in a container and she mixed it all together carefully, folding it all, not letting the air out… until it was a ball of soft, dough.  She placed a t-towel over it and set her iPod for an hour.  Then she got to work, chopping up her favourite things for pizza:  cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, olives, capsicums, garlic… all the good stuff!  Cut a piece of baking paper, sprinkled some flour on it and put on the oven.  Before long, the timer went off, she rolled out the dough, put on the ingredients and put it into the oven for 20 minutes!

Bell rang!

Michelle opened the door, heat rolls out invitingly with the aroma of pizza! 

“Oh!  Yummo!  Dinner!” she pushed the slide under it, took it to the cutting board, cut it into quarters, served it up and bit into the first slice before even sitting down at the table!