A Vacuum, Headphones, and Homework

In trying to think about something to write about and also trying to help my roommie find a book of hers, I for some reason come to thought of Emily Dickinson. I think about the life she lead and of what she wrote about it. And its funny to me that anyone would have thought what she wrote about was crazy. I mean, look at her life. Look at other poets, or authors lives and what they wrote about. As authors we write about what we know. And if we don't know it, we study it and then we know it. It's almost impossible to write about something you don't know.
As I read other blogs I thought about what they wrote about it and how their thoughts or poems or articles had to do with something of their life, whether they were going through it or a friend was. Thats what we do, we write about our life.
So tonight I'm writing about what I know. I know that my roommate at this very moment has her backpack turned upside down and over the kitchen trashcan emptying it out of any and all crumbs that may have accumulated over the past few weeks. My other roommie is sitting in her reclining chair with black headphones in her ears, a yearbook on her lap and her computer on top of that. I'm assuming she's catching up on a show that was missed while we were all being spiritually enlightened at our stake institute class. And then there is me. Sitting smack dab in the middle of the love seat doing her homework to the sound of, well used to be silence but now is a vacuum sucking the cookie crumbs from the innards of a backpack.
Could this be a poem? Why not. Could this be in a movie? I hope so. Could this be in a blog? It is now! Isn't writing grand?