Indecisive (Writing Exercise)

Today will be my first "short story exercise" that I post in my blog.  I started another Fiction workshop class this semester and would like to share what I've been up to. :)




I couldn't leave the house today because I couldn't decide who I was.  I wasn't hungry for breakfast, so I didn't eat. I tried opening the refrigerator, thinking I would be inspired by some fruit or snack I forgot that I had, but I felt nothing for the contents.  All I noticed was that the light bulb was still out. It had been two weeks and still neither of my roommates stepped up to do it.  I stopped doing things around the house when I realized I was the only one doing them.  I still do the dishes though, even though none of them are mine.  I can't stand the sight, or the smell, of a sink filled with food covered dishes.  I can't confront them about it either.  Words are wasted on them and I can't be that roommate anymore.  I suppose I know who I don't want to be.


I stare at my closet and I think that going outside might pull me out of my funk. I flip through the shirts, the skirts, the dresses and shorts. I find nothing I want to wear. I stand in the middle of my room, naked, with my face in my hands.  I don't know why I start crying and yet, I don't know why I wouldn't be crying.  I can't even pick out clothes.  I am naked and I can't even make a decision to put clothes on.  In between tears I hear a friend sign online.  I send her a message.  She signs off. I am alone again.


I pick up my used tissues off the floor.  I tell myself to stop sulking.  My closet door is open, revealing an overstocked wardrobe.  I tell myself there is no reason not to be able to find something to wear today.  I pick through my dresses.  Nothing is suitable.  It's a hot day.  I have shorts, but do I want to wear shorts? I can't decide.  I try again. Do I want to be someone who wears shorts today? I decide I am insane.  Shorts it is.


I don't want to wear shorts.  I find a skirt, I find a top. Now the deciding factor, do I have shoes? I find the answer is yes.  One pair of over-worn brown sandals sits in the corner of my closet collecting dust.  I pull them out, see that they need to be thrown away, and put them on.


I turn to the left and look into the mirror on the back of my door. I still need to do my hair and put my face on. I'm starting to look like a real person.  I don't feel like one yet. I turn on my curling iron.