Somebody tell me I’m not the only one with a place in her head where she goes where everything is precisely as she wishes it.
That was a clunky opening sentence. Kids, don’t write that way. Rizzy’s not firing on all cylinders today. Today was rough. I’m human, and I’m human enough to admit to the whole internet that today did not go very well, and I may have lost my cool on one or two occasions.
But in my head, in that place I go, things are not so frightening.
It’s green and gold there, and eternally early autumn. The sky is blue, and it only rains when I want it to.
There are hills painted in sunshine, rolling up and down like waves of grass. There are trees too, of course, tall and twisted and bursting with colorful leaves.
I live in a wagon. It’s a little two-gabled house on great round wooden wheels and pulled by a Clydesdale. But I don’t live in the wagon all the time. Sometimes I live in a tree and sleep in a hammock strung up between the branches. Like I said, it only rains when I want it to. When I do want it to, I sleep in a house built under the tree, into the side of the hill. This house winds back and back into the biggest hill, and is full of twists and turns and interesting rooms and the biggest subterranean library you can imagine.
I am alone there most of the time. Not always.
You see, I never grew out of Neverland. Neverland just sort of changed as I grew up. There used to be castles and dragons and wild adventures, but now there’s just the hills and my hollow tree. It’s peaceful there.
Why am I writing this description of a place that doesn’t exist? Because I am forcibly avoiding writing about all the things that went wrong today. I am reminding myself that while I may be an airhead who bungles things most of the time, at least I have a good imagination.
And everyone needs something pleasant to think about as they try to go to sleep.