I'm sitting at my desk waiting for a Skype call from my parents and toiling over a particularly grueling piece of homework: compiling a play from various scenes written by my classmates and filling in all the holes.
It's dark outside, but my windows have these really amazing, roll-downy blind things that completely block what's outside from view. I'm imagining that it's sunny and balmy. I'm turning up my heat to simulate this effect. Hmm. Need breeze. Turning on fan.
Scratch that. Turning off fan and heat.
...
Even midway through daunting projects like this play, I still feel like I'm staring at a blank page. A big, white void waiting to be filled. Even equipped with a backspace key, the first word is the hardest. Shaking head. I have thousands of words before me. I only have to ORGANIZE them.
Non. Ce n'est pas possible.
...
I'd rather be barefoot. Running, jumping, climbing trees. Basking in the sun. Frolicking. Did I mention bare feet? Because that part is very important.
This would all be better with a flower tucked into my hair. In the dream, of course. Yes, I think I shall have a flower in my hair.
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