One Day I Slowly Floated Away

It's too quiet here, she thought to herself, unfolding like a moth from sheets of cream and buttery hue. It's much too quiet. Here, where people wake and work and do the same thing they've done the day before. Here, where the only pronounced change in weather comes predictably with the roulette of the seasons. Here, where if you listen long enough and devoutly enough, you can here that savage scraping of shovels, the grand sifting of time, the removal of ages of memory and woe, working to expose rude and nameless things one has sought to forget.

But oh! she observed. But here, look how the sun shines ever-so quaintly through the window. Regardless of the space and memories, how the sun still persists!



There was an impromptu tea party outdoors this afternoon. The girl invited her dearest wonderland friends to join. There was a merry chirrup of birds in the trees and the sweet, earthy-sticky smell of grass clippings. The tea was green and minty.



Later on a gnome was kind enough to visit. The girl had a multitude of gnomes that inhabited her backyard.



There was an invitation sent out for Pooker, but he seemed far more interested in bumblebees and leaves and catching sunbeams than tea.



Reynaldo seemed to want to visit, but missed the invitation.



After tea and goodies, the sidewalk looked due and prime for some artwork. The girl decided to draw her favorite things. There was a walrus and a troll, and also some pudgy birds and dill pickles.

And the girl thought to herself, why must we perceive what is at our immediacy as boring and dull? Why must life be an outlet for discontent? And the decision came to be that day--it does not pay to suffer and pine over the doldrums of life. The situation in question is a neutral stimuli, and what affects being is what is perceived, this being either positive or negative. I dare not write or leer over what is already writ, but I stand to emphasize and proclaim. There is a choice at every crossroads, dearest wonderland friends, and we are made to harbor our own destiny. This does not mean that one is not entitled to emotion or opinion; simply, there is always a choice to be had, we must only allow ourselves the action.

Find wonder in your lives. For every realist there is a dreamer, for every daydream a thought rooted in our perception.

This anecdote stands as a footnote to the greater portion of the entry. Today there was an appointment and a bill to be paid and a surgery announced. There were checks to write and cars to drive. Icky, adult-like things that are tarnished with monotony and media. And my dear friends, I've decided I shall never grow up.

Because make-believe is far too much fun. I will play the role of the adult, but I think I shall ever be a child--the world is simply too wide and splendid to allow otherwise.

Greatest love to my reader[s] and browsers and friends.

I think I must be a Troll

Oh, hello.

I've come to believe that I am a troll and not a young lady.

I am short and skinny with eyes the color of nature-things, and my hair is lopsided and messy in the mornings. I am rather fond of being nocturnal, and when I neglect showers, I tend to smell funny. I am quite fine with crawling about on my hands and knees. I rather dislike itchy things and spend a good deal of my time thinking very troll-like thoughts--[trolls think about things like birds and peppermints and leaves and dancing troll dances, if you were wondering, dear friends].

I must say, I would be rather content living in the hollow of an old tree and munching on grass and leaves and twigs all my days. I could make friends with the woodland animals and splash in muddy-mud puddles. It all sounds rather nice, doesn't it?

I visited some trollkin a while ago. They lives in a low-lying valley to the south, surrounded by hills and trees and rivers and llama farms.

I met the dear Hans Pipkin, who was kind enough to show me his accordion. There was a troll with a tophat and large feet, and a motherly looking troll as well. There was merriment and dancing, and trollfood and trollcheer. I really, gosh, think I must be a troll.


My dear wonderland friend came with me. I do not think she is a troll. I don't know what she is, rightly, but she is my friend all the same. Aside from visiting trollkin, we explored the shore of a great river. There was rain on the horizon and jovialty in our laughter. The sun was lost and weary amongst the clouds--this was how I felt the whole day. I felt quite fond of being lost in my surroundings, lost in what was life. I was a good deal tired, mind you. But by no means does my weariness imply sadness. Sometimes, when I am so very tired, time seems to move slower. I have some of my most wonderful adventures when I am weary.