Eggs from the launching basket
What to expect when you've birthed an idea
Let me introduce you to my post-launch head.
It’s a hard boiled egg in red and white polka dotted socks and shoes.
The top has been lopped off. Inside, it reveals some yellow goo that is already setting into a well done of almost powder.
Casting an eye further down, I see soggy toasted soldiers are going about their Friday as if nothing has happened.
I’m staring at this egg. I’m not even sure I want it anymore. I’m hungry, tired, thirsty, and craving a blanket fort to hide in.
This is a long way from this morning’s fevered steam. A sweaty brow cooking things under a white light of hard decisions who happily toiled.
Oh how I laboured! I boiled that chunky little sucker to perfection. Or so I thought. I plated that head-birthed creation in the most novel way I could think of.
But as the gap grows, as the heat leaves that polka dotted form and reality begins to congeal, the anti-climax of the mundanity I thought was clever is left in it’s place.
My job is to wait to see if I have whetted an appetite.
Am I saying this to myself as a reality or as wishful thinking?
Has that bloody egg even changed its damn shape?!
Such peace after such a steamy, time-driven fervour is rather hard to take.
Did I make something they wanted? Or did I over-anticipate?
Am I just tired or is this less retro and more retrograde?
Who pays attention to anything in December anyway?!
Humpty Dumpty has taken it’s place.
Image: a whole boiled egg in a chipped red and white egg cup next to an empty egg cup.