On a good day, my mind is a scattered collection of thoughts that rattle around without ever making sense to me, let alone anyone else. Some days, having a coherent conversation gets difficult. I like to call it my ADHD and say that it’s under control. Who knows? Maybe it is.
Or maybe it’s just that I think too much. I think about the characters in my story and what to feed my son. I think about a new word I learned or that guy who was honking at me for walking in his way in the parking lot. I worry about whether I paid all the bills or if I can go one more day before hitting the grocery store. There is always something going on behind my eyes. I assume it’s the same exact thing for everyone.
I envy my son. His only worry is whether I’m going to catch him when he plays in the toilet. It’s a carefree existence filled with new things and experiences every day. Not to mention the hallucinations that toddler suffer from. Imagination is a wonderful thing, always there to entertain you. Well, I guess that is true of his momma too. Just like my almost two year old can retreat into his mind in times of boredom, so can I. Only I get to take it one step further. I get to write about it and share it.
Lucky you, you get to read my rambles, if you choose, when I start puking out my overly fertile imagination. I put it in writing that is, for the most part, cohesive and makes sense, I hope. So for those of you without the imagination to keep yourself entertained, there is hope. And that hope lies in all those crazy, sorry, eccentric people who put their imagination to work and deign to let you read their crap after they have made it less craplike.