Mad Tea Party

Colorful clean clothes spill out of the laundry basket and create little walkways leading to the bathroom and the closet. I have my very own personal bridges and I cross them carefully, making sure I don’t move anything out of place. I don’t want to start another path leading straight to…the wall. Because that just wouldn’t make any sense. At least the paths I have lead to a destination! Because the way it’s set up now, it would be easy to slip or make a wrong turn and oops… I’ve just accidentally started a new bridge here on my bedroom floor. And now I have three bridges and everyone knows that three’s a crowd. I’m feeling so mischievous in my new atmosphere. I never knew clean laundry would one day serve a purpose other than hanging in the closet.

So this is what happens to your apartment when you write a feature. I wish someone would have warned me that my place would soon look like a landfill that’s been hit by a tornado that’s been melted into a s’more and handed out to the neighbors; yes, even old Betty with the fifteen cats gets one.

My apartment has become the perfect place to hide something valuable, I’ve decided. I’d be able to hide a large cow in here no problem. It would camouflage into the bridges and ceiling high dishes and empty gum wrappers easily

My mother would drop dead if she saw me living like this. Even I’m starting to get fed up, but I’m trying something here. I’m going with the flow and surrendering to the fact that I spend every waking hour hunched over my laptop pressing keys over and over again, breaking only to go on the occasional audition and wait tables. There simply isn’t time for putting the t-shirts in the t-shirt drawer.

I’ve also managed to lose my cell phone. I love not having a phone. This is the first time I’m saying it out loud, but it’s like I’m on vacation without that high pitched ringing and constant red blinking light. I swear I’ve been uprooted to Mars or am Alice’s uninvited guest at the mad tea party.

Someone should have warned me, “Warning: Writing Your First Feature: May cause dementia. Expect large messes and loss of interaction with society!”

“Where are you? Have you changed your mind about casting me?” I slide over a few pair of jeans and let them collapse onto the floor and read the letter from my mother that awaits me in my inbox. I start to reply, but then think I feel something crawling on my toe. I slam the laptop shut. I’m so Gena Rowlands in A Woman under the Influence as I shake out the sheets in mix-matched pajamas and different colored socks.

This mess has got to be worth it in the end. After all, everyone’s got their own process. Quentin Tarantino came up with Kill Bill by writing it on a napkin; I live in a garbage can. Oh well. It could always be worse, right?

Alice can be reached at AliceActress@yahoo.com.

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