The Waiting Room

This is a blog about creativity in all of its forms. We aren't fancy. Kristin and I often use the very cheapest of materials--dowel rods instead of curtain rods, fabric bought in bulk for $2.98 at Value Village, $5 toilet seats versus $15 dollar ones (we'll fill you in on this in another entry). There are some exceptions to this rule, but on principle, we're not afraid to do a bit of jerry-rigging, and we definitely aren't afraid to get messy.

I'm about to get messy.

I ask you to bear with me while I digress to a fundamental question: can anxiety be good for creativity?

Lately life has felt like an enormous waiting room. Before I go any further, and in order to make this as dramatic as possible, I should acknowledge my absolute detest for anything resembling waiting. In fact, I feel nothing but abhorrence for it. And although I would imagine that most people with at least partial brain function do not enjoy waiting, I am also aware that my hatred of waiting goes beyond that of others, probably stemming from some evil combination of genetics (does anyone else find it futile to argue with the crapshoot of chromosomes? What's done is done, I say...)

I find out this week if I got into school.

It is exhausting to keep checking my phone. And my email. And driving home in the afternoons to check the mail. And wondering which pile my applications are in. Since I am also trying to refrain from looking at the unofficial MFA acceptance data base (which I just found today--damn you, Google!--and which allows anxiety-prone individuals such as myself to actually talk with each other, thereby feeding the entire nervous fire), I find it more productive to skip out on work and pour my anxiety into the mysterious black hole of the World Wide Web. Please be aware that this is a coping mechanism, and that I am using you not only for the distraction you facilitate, but for a personal experiment involving the use of anxiety as a catalyst for creativity.

Because I am writing this in the confines of my own personal waiting room hell, and since I am a person who is spatially-oriented and generally concerned with aesthetic and decor, it serves to ask: what does my personal waiting room hell look like? This is an attempt to funnel my anxiety into something more creative.

To start with, my personal waiting room hell has the most horrific wallpaper I have ever seen--a fantastically hideous brown plaid, lumpy in places with pen-holes stuck nervously through the air bubbles. In the section directly above the giant rainbow-colored floor abacus, a child has drawn a row of smiling stick people, all of whom seem completely unconcerned by their plaid surroundings. A teenage boy, clad in Pantera t-shirt and a deep scowl, whose sweat-pantsed mother is engrossed in the latest People magazine, has sneakily penned moustaches and male genetalia on each happy family member.

So here I am in my waiting room. Waiting. With strangers who are also waiting for something, be it a test grade, divorce papers, a long lost relative to finally pull into the driveway... Since I have already expressed my hatred for waiting, I will leave you to attribute my knuckle-cracking, ring-twisting, and teeth-clacking to high levels of anxiety. In my waiting room hell, I try and take deep breaths. I bounce my leg. I wiggle my toes inside their shoes. I try and find weird features on my phone that I have never noticed before. I grip the sides and bottom of my chair. Note: one should never grip the sides or bottom of a waiting room chair. Undoubtedly, gum is stuck in hardening orbs to the bottom of the seat, gum that I absently dig my fingernails into before I realize what it is.

My horrible waiting room chair is the kind of chair that can never be comfortable, no matter how you try and position yourself. It is low-backed, and the seat is covered in scratchy blue fabric. There are dried boogers on the arms. Its metal sides are welded to those of the chair next to it, so that if one is to shift nervously in her seat, the rest of the chairs in the row will jerk suddenly in a violent train effect. The woman reading People will look up, annoyed.

In my waiting room hell, I am looking for something to DO. I enjoy creating things, painting, cooking, baking, arranging found alley treasures in my garden, hauling heavy items around my house, etc... But, since I am waiting to hear from writing school, I find it appropriate to write. I also really enjoy writing about disgusting decor whenever possible. And people in sweat pants.


Cross your fingers, kids...the waiting will be over soon. Or so I tell myself.

Love,
Debbie