What comes out of my brain when I let it go

And then there was the day I became a horticultural bandit simply by twisting my nose into the approximation of a church spire. The sky is livid with blue, purple, and green, like the bruise I got that time after being kicked by a pony. Trees sprout up, twisting their ways around streetlamps and slow-moving elderly folk. I squint my eyes, open them wide, and stare aghast at small yellow babies floating in the sky.

Mumblings surround me, as purple as the sky, but not so green. The words warp the greenthumbed rapscallion within, and ivy surrounds the words in verdant word balloons.

Work takes me to a different place.

And I Will Tell Them I Remember You

While on hold with a customer, I heard the most relaxing music. It was a slow, jazzy cover of "I Remember You" sung by a woman with a lovely, low voice. Do you know who the artist is?

Elvis Took a Licking

Apropos of nothing, I suddenly remembered my very first day of school. I was five years old, and I got on the schoolbus all by myself while it was still dark out. The seats were very tall. I couldn't see over them. I sat in the very front seat and clutched my bookbag to my chest. I sat up nice and tall and my little legs stuck out straight in front of me. Barring the driver, I was the only one on the bus.

When I got to school, I was sent to a classroom. I took a seat near the front and sat very still, my arms folded on the desk in front of me. All around me were crying children. They wailed and said, "I wanna go hoooome!"

I sat very still and listened to what the teacher said. At some point (it may have been the first recess break), I raised my hand. When the teacher asked me what I want, I asked, "When do we go home?"

She screamed, "You'll wait until 3:00!"

I was glad to get home that night.

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