Slow as Motion

It's grey out.  woke up on my couch.  closed the windows.  opened the windows. turned on the heater. put on my sweatpants. put on boy's t-shirt.  stumbled to coffee-maker. opened refrigerator instead. sigh. not hungry. grabbed rice and chicken for my dog. laughed at her medical-cone. put gym clothes on. had some almonds. walked to gym. forgot sneakers...ugh. slipped on a grease spot. ouch. cursed. 

it's still grey out.  

put my ipod on. ran in place. sweat. breathed. sweat. "I made you some homemade granola". ate some homemade granola. still not hungry. walked home. stumbled up stairs and to my coffee-maker. sighed. turned and put granola in my pantry. heard my dog whine. found her cone-head stuck between the table and the couch. laughed. laughed. I laughed. "Music", I thought, "I want to play piano". played. "write", I thought, "I want to write". Wrote. 

it's...still...grey.  

...I'm going. I go.  I go to a theme-park. I am going, going to a theme-park.  Studios.  Universal Studios.  

I'll write later.  I left. 

....................................

The theme park mused my thoughts.  But now I am home.  Surrounded by my loss.  And I am sad.  

Observation 1: The Cheery Way to Wake

Cheerios are just an amazing creation.  Sure, cereal is good all around but Cheerios are like the Rolls Royce of breakfast cereals: classic, simple, and nutritional.  And how about that cute yellow box that just immediately brings you back to childhood.  A bowl of Cheerios has multiple levels of satisfaction.  Some cereals get soggy, or the milk has a funny after-taste because the strawberry flavoring that was actually foreign chemicals only tastes like strawberry on the cereal, and others turn the milk a murky brown and no one likes a dirty milk mustache.  But Cheerios--ah, defies all of that.  Add milk, fresh blueberries, Cheerios, and a lil' Splenda or sugar for some sweetness and you are good to go--the blueberries are tart and soft, the Cheerios stay crunchy and the milk is perfectly sweet to top it off.  Bravo and encore my O-shaped little friends.  

Dream Weaver.

I am fortunate enough in my life to be able to dream.  I can be whatever I want to be.  Yes.  Nearly.  And my mind, my imagination can take me about anywhere--my dreams are limitless.  Most young American's are familiar with this mindset--endless imaginations but what about the more common places on earth where people can't be whatever they want to be.  The concept of "possibility" of "goals" and "aspirations" well, they just do not exist.  How very...very difficult to relate to.  So lucky, are we, to not be able to relate.  So fortunate that we cannot imagine boundaries in our sleep or elsewhere.  So.  Realizing how incredibly rare a dream is--I thought I'd start my little blogging project with my most recent...

I landed in Italy.  Peak tourist season, hardly a true Italian to be seen.  Instead, many children and mothers and fathers and elders and stray men and clusters of giggling ladies and all were outfitted as if they were torn right from the pages of an antique paper-doll book from the early 1900's.   Infact, the only tangible sign that I was in Italy at all were the ancient and gaudy stone architectures that leaned menacingly over the cobble stone square where all these paper-doll tourist bustled. 

 That's when i noticed the tents--blood red, heavy canvas tents stained with black ash and soot from the city and they were scattered about the square--five of them maybe.  I walked passed one that emitted a warm, welcoming yellow glow from it's open curtain.  I walked passed another, darker tent with closed curtains but I could smell something icy, and decaying as I neared.  So curious and almost grotesque was the smell that it became more alluring than even the previous tent.  

I continued deeper into the square.  I spotted a small gathering and moved in to catch a glimpse of what it surrounded.  A small, stout man in vibrant rags and a dull red nose was pulling flowers from a women's hat.  An onlooking young man snickered.  The small clown whipped around to face the leer and as he did he grew and transformed into an enormous, vicious, hideous clown creature with fangs and claws and blood drenched lips.  I gasped, but the crowd cheered.  

.................

...and I will finish my dream perhaps tonight.  Until then, I hope this entertains at least a slight bit.  

peace,

analeigh