(Creativity) Don't Waste Time.

She stared at the burnt orange of the baby sunflower that seemed to glow back at her from under the star-shaped lamp that was hanging over her tiny table. Mixed around the orange were other colors-- a simple purple, a deep maroon, and several shades of spring-like green, though it was October. She had come home from a long day at work to find that her husband had bought flowers. "No reason," he had said. What a thoughtful man. Her eyes glazed over as she stared and she had to blink to bring them some teary relief from the dryness. Her eyebrows pressed hard into each other as she frowned. She had just returned his gesture of love with a quick retort and a stormy moment of tension brought on by her own lack of tact. 

Ugh. My stupid, every-day madness. When will I ever get it right?

She felt as if she were coming around the same mountain once again. She always seemed to be blowing things out of proportion. She had come home to a beautiful flower arrangement housed in the crystal vase they'd received on their wedding day from one of her bridesmaids. It was not often that she was surprised by flowers. And what did she do? She got into a stupid fight with her mother over something that she knew was really not a big deal, and she let it not only ruin her mood, but also the moment that should have been sweet with her husband. 

Living with parents was not a problem usually, though sometimes she wished they were in a house and on their own. However, that was not the issue here. It was herself. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands as she sat on the refurbished cushion of a sturdy, old metal chair. Glancing around, she noticed she had not put away any of her work things. Sighing, she pushed up out of the chair and began to clear the clutter and hang her dress pants. She started to make the bed, and she remembered what her husband had reminded her: "I do not remember the past, Liz. I do not think you are stupid, and I am not adding this moment to all the other moments you remember. You think about all those times when you feel you did something stupid or blew something up that was not a big deal. You beat yourself up. Don't. This is not a big deal. It was just a mistake. Look at it from an outside point of view, and you will see that you should just apologize and let it go. It's not worth being upset-- with your mom or yourself. And I am not upset with you."

Now that she was twenty-three, the days seemed to fly a little faster. They told me it would be this way, she thought. How many times had she heard someone say, "Oh, that feels like just yesterday..." Or perhaps, "Time flies so quickly. I can't believe so-and-so's already graduated from high school" (or college... or gotten married... or had kids...). She knew the reality of this life. Time is a vapor. Life is fleeting. It is one short season of an eternity. Why waste time?

Sitting on the star and flowers patterns of their quilt, she let her feet dangle off the side of the princess-high bed and marveled at the last year and nine months that she had been married. Had it really been that long? And yet it also seemed to be forever ago that she had walked down the aisle, looking up at her father, who had tears in his eyes. She thought forward-- what did her future hold? Would she get 70 years with Marc? Or was today the last she had with him? How many more years did she have with her parents? Her brother and sister? Her best friend? Marc is right, she thought. She knew he was. He was so good at saying what needed to be said. She could feel it in her when he spoke to her earlier that night-- iron sharpening iron. He had been good for her from day one. 

It is stupid to sit in here wasting time, putzing around, being angry. 

She looked over at the door that separated their "home" from the rest of the house. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the curtain. She knew apologizing would be the best. She wanted to. She just had to work up the courage. She stood up, her bare feet hitting the cold, hardwood floors, and padded over to the door. She squinted through the curtain's crack to the kitchen on the other side. She put her hand on the knob and hesitated, looking back at the cat, who was sitting on the edge of the couch, blinking at her. Finally, with a deep breath, she turned the knob and plunged through the doorway to find her mom.