anne’s sponge

      Writing has always been my passion. But this blog I am posting is something that was forced, part of the course requirement is a 500-word descriptive essay on your favorite room. I thought I was pursuing Accounting, you know, like numbers, numbers, numbers. But I guess they want us to practice writing a novel, too. Anyways I managed to come up with something. So here is a page of my diary, hehe….

Revised Draft Exam Number 05085704

  It is a warm and humid morning in July, but my thoughts are about a blue December when I and all the other trailer park residents have to move out due to a redevelopment program in the area. It will not be easy when I leave my sanctuary, my safe haven where I have single-handedly raised my now five year old child and witnessed his milestones. Still sprawled comfortably on my queen-size bed, I think about memories of this place as I draw in the vanishing smell of luscious pear on my fabric. As I arch my back and roll my neck I see the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets that illuminate my ceiling in the night when it is pitch black. As my neighbor’s outdoor washer and dryer vibrate rip-roaringly, my attention is drawn to the mountain of worn clothes piling up in my green hamper, and to the already washed clothes that are still in plastic bags - ready to go yet still trapped. Through squinted eyes I check the clock and realize I should change, hang my short-sleeved green robe and start doing my chores. But the mellow colors of the walls, dim lighting and coziness of my bedroom all tempt me to just sit back and enjoy this lethargic state.

    I am a stickler for harmony; I buy things that match. I think of my bedroom as my green kingdom, and kiwi green swivel chair my throne. My white and green hand-painted polka dot bookshelf that matches my curtain and bedspreads divides my child’s kingdom and mine; it is situated between our beds, giving me privacy. My lime green computer desk is big enough to hold my printer and my paper tray but does not provide a lot of work space anymore since my wayward child keeps forgetting that his plastic toys and bottled juices are not welcome there. I spot the coffee spill on my slide-out keyboard tray, and I shake my head and wonder why I bother to buy coasters yet forget to use them. I glance at my padlocked luggage bag that contains my personal files and belongings, and once more remember that I will have a lot of packing to do when my son and I move out. I dance to the beat of Spanish music emanating from the trailer adjacent to mine and I already feel homesick just thinking about leaving. I will surely miss this trailer park and the friends I have made.