Don’t Read This.

I’ve always been sort of an odd bird.

In the second grade, I would use ALL of the colored pencils during art time. I felt it was my duty to fill in the trees, houses, and other mundane outlines printed on mass-produced paper with something exciting.

Because a brown trunk with green leaves seemed so. . . well, obvious.

Surely a tree with rainbow leaves would be much more fun to look at.

. . .

I first realized I had an anxiety disorder when a faculty meeting grew heated. The dispute was between a fellow teacher and our principal. And suddenly, I realized there were tears upon my face.

I quietly excused myself from my table. I walked down the hall. I opened up my classroom, sat at my desk in the dark, and cried.

. . .

I was the girl at summer camp who completed the dares. Nothing bad. Juvenille highjinks that for some reason were reserved for boys.

I’ve always been bothered by big talkers. I’d show ’em. I had the guts.

And I loved it.

I only hoped the magic of camp would follow us home. And it never did, Dear Reader.

We were never as close.

. . .

I feel the pain of others, deeply. I still don’t know what postmodern means. I have dreams at night that feel so real I sometimes think they are. Didn’t we talk about this already?

. . .

I am all or nothing.

I am SnapDragon.

. . .

SnapDragon is an artist who enjoys packing her bag for vacation.

Follow her Two-Bit Musings and more on Snippets of SnapDragon.