My Surreal Life Goes OnYet again I've travelled without a plan.
"She dropped everything, and ran."
A new night in a new place, I'm restless like late-night Xmas-eve. Laying in a strange twin bed, writing by the light of a lava lamp, surrounded by posters of pop princesses and a profusion of pink. Ensconsced with a menagerie of stuffed animals and all the precious playthings of a tween (nee child).
If I close my eyes tightly enough, can I drop off to sleep a nearly 33-year-old lady, and awaken as the wonder-woman-costume-wearing, someday-to-be-a-veterinarian (or-a-ballerina), feeding-my-meat-to-the-dog-under-the-table girlchild?
The room is cluttered, messy, but not dirty; as my rooms (and homes) often are as an adult. It's not that I'm immature, or lazy, or crazy - far from it. No, it's just that I had more than my fair share of cleaning, scrubbing, mucking-out, washing, laundering, and picking-up-after during my childhood to last me more than this lifetime.
So spare me your prejudgments, if you please. Leave me to my candyfloss, pony-filled, glittering stardust dreams.