I’ve built my room. I have the bed, curtains, toys, carpet and light. These things are important–they make a room what they are.
I am a small child banished back to clean up the mess. The toys are scattered, the bed is in disarray, dirt has thickened to a deep blanket over the light and the carpet is stained with Jell-O spills and marker. I have my room but things are not as they should be.
I am a prisoner of my own subconscious. The stronger me won’t let the child out until the room is in order but the child throwing a tantrum gives me a headache. When will she learn to just pick up her toys?
Yep, so that’s what comes from my fuzzy brained ideas when I should be asleep. They probably mean nothing to you so they shouldn’t be here but who knows, maybe you have a child throwing a tantrum in your head tonight as well.