Daydreaming of Shrimp


I awake on a train, surrounded by stuffed monkeys, eating a stale waffle that a clown gave me. Where am I going?

You are climbing Mt. Everest out of spite, looking for “the answer”, wishing you could sew.

I am in a playground, swinging on the slide, wishing I was young again, then old, then young, then old. Did I mention my hatred of yo-yos.

You are “pretending” to be a table…again.

I am singing and yodeling at the same time — multi-tasking! I also have an overwhelming desire to melt some cheese. Not for eating, just for the pure pleasure of seeing something, anything melt.

You are doing your math homework. What’s up with that!?!?! Only this time it makes you smile sooooooo wide.

I am climbing stairs, daydreaming of shrimp, wanting to play Dance Dance Revolution.

You are eating peanuts, taunting elephants, trying to outsmart yourself — giving yourself a headache which is distracting you from your broken heart.

I am giggling. Hee hee hee.

Your life flashes before your eyes…running through the corn maze at age 5, eating a bucket of pickles at age 10, turning your English essay into an opera at age 18, moving to France to learn Spanish at age 30, rehabilitating cows at age 45…and then it dawns on you, this is not my life.

I am sitting on a bean bag chair at your house folding rice paper in my dreams. Analyze that expensive psychiatrist!

You are not solving unsolvable problems, but you are getting closer. Is there any problem that good sushi can’t solve?

The wind is blowing…the clouds — oh, the clouds! The beauty of nature. It is overwhelming.

A breath, a single breath, then another and another. This happens all the time. Not really noteworthy.

I come up with this really great idea of putting letters together to make something I call “words” and then putting some of these “words” together to make “sentences”. And then, these “sentences” can be put together to tell people things. I like to call it “talking”.

You are sitting on a hill beside a much shorter hill. What a silly, short hill you think.

I am alone, running down the road, flexing, eating celery.

You are hopping around like a small bug next to a small pile of dirt and then there is this bug walking around your house like he owns the place. Sort of like a human-bug exchange program.

Colours fly by — red, orange, blue, then red again, then green. Serenity at last

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.