Other than that, about the only interesting thing happening around here is that the neighborhood cat I call one-eyed Jimmy has taken to stalking our bedroom window every day at 6am, thus sending our two cats into an absolute frenzied rage. Waking up to the sound of screaming cats is not a peaceful way to begin the day.
Anyways, on to new ramblings. For fun, I’m taking a creative writing course on Thursday evenings with Emily, and last night we were given a writing prompt: write about two senses. My two senses were sight and smell. I’m not going to type in what I wrote, because in truth it was one of the worst prompts I’ve done so far. So I suppose it’s kind of funny, then, that that’s the first one I’m choosing to tell you all about.
When I saw “smell” on my little card, I immediately thought of the scent of an industrial detergent, the kind used to clean institutional restrooms. And then what followed was me trying to remember why on earth I love that smell. Because I really do. It has to be this particular kind, that smells kind of lemony, kind of bleachy, with a tinge of sugariness.
It reminds me of my daycare. I’ve never known anyone else who enjoyed daycare as much as I did, except perhaps my niece, who now actually goes to that same one her mother and I did. So it makes sense that I associate the place with good things. But I don’t have any particularly happy memories of the restroom. In fact the only memory I do have of it is having an accident on my way to it when I was about 2 and new to daycare and potty training. And that I remember as one of the first and most embarrassing moments of my life.