I'm liking this Sunday Scribblings thing. I forgot how awesome it feels to freewrite, no editing, no judgements (or, at least in my case, fewer judgements. That critic in my head is fierce!)
So here's my piece. It doesn't end, but whatever.
Oh, and I thought I would post the brainstorming I used to get to my story idea.
Baggage=something that's undesirable to bring to a relationship, though it's also something that everyone brings to a relationship
Baggage=excitement of packing
Baggage=different packing styles
Baggage=mom always asking if I'm going to buy new clothes for trips.
"Do you need new clothes?" This is the first question out of my mom's mouth when I tell her I'm going to Seattle to visit my college roommate.
Though I know to anticipate the question, it still annoys me. My mom loves to shop. She seems to truly believe she "needs" new clothes for every occassion, especially trips. Like she couldn't find a suitable outfit in the two closets worth of clothes that hang in what used to be my and my younger brother's bedroom.
"No, mom," I sigh. "Seattle's about the same temperature. I can wear there what I wear here."
"But still..." No matter how many times we have this conversation, she doesn't seem to care to grasp the fact that I don't like buying stuff for the sake of buying stuff (well, most of the time, anyway). And that even if I did, I'm on a budget, a word she will never understand the meaning of. How she managed to go 60 something years without knowing the state of her and my father's checking account amazes me.
"What suitcase will you bring?" she asks. Why she would care about such a trivial detail, I don't know. I do know I need to get off the phone soon, before I can no longer disguise the annoyance in my voice.
"The red one I got for my wedding."
"That small one? How will you fit all your stuff?"
"I don't like to check any baggage," I say. "It wastes too much time."
"Always in a hurry. I'll never understand you kids."