Snippets of SnapDragon

A Weirdo, Cerebral Reflection from Yours Truly.

. . .

Wouldn’t it be something if our every thought could be documented? Like, our dreams could be stored away in The Vault of Complete Memories, which I visualize as a rather Soviet-looking building, filled with hundreds of books and videotapes. Every dream, pondering, or musing filed away, awaiting reflection.

Or you know. . . maybe not, because even entertaining that idea gives me significant heart palpitations.

What I’m getting at is that the mind is a funny thing; there are so many fleeting thoughts, many of which stay for just a blip on the screen, and are never heard from again.

And you know? I think that’s a real shame. How much have we lost? How many valuable seedlings never make it to the light of day?

. . .

I woke up this morning feeling like The Tin Man. My hands were a frustrating mix of fiery frozen fingers.

I’ve yet to see a doctor, but I’m confident I have carpal tunnel syndrome. It seems that even a few years of scooping ice cream and meticulously decorating cakes wreaks havoc on the wrists. (That, and my crazy handwriting practices also probably contributed.)

I felt so much older than my [almost] 35 years. The only cure was several small, steamy mugs of coffee, followed by a piping hot shower. I wet-brushed my hair. I cocoa-buttered my body. I put on my new polka dot house dress, and felt reborn.

. . .

Nothing is ever Most things are never really done. Never really over, never really. . . accomplished.

Our days are spent simply trying to keep up.

Again and again and again.

For these are the moments wrinkles are made of.

. . .

I don’t have many friends.

17 years ago I saw myself as The Girl Who Got Along With Everyone. And while I like to think I still have that mindset–I really do try to see the best in people–I find myself on the periphery of true friendship. Maybe it’s my simple lifestyle: maybe I seem boring to most people. Maybe my artistic nature is difficult for others to relate to.

Or maybe we’ve forgotten that friendship is a living, breathing thing. Starve it, and see what happens.

Meanwhile, I’ll prune the brilliant blossoms in the morning sun.

I love you.

. . .

It literally took the act of childbirth for me to learn the art of asking for what I need.

. . . I am worthy of help. I am worthy of comfort in this life.

And so, my friend, are you.

. . .

SnapDragon is a writer who just loves using mixed metaphors.

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