Feeling Free to Freely Associate

I found a writing from a while back that came from a mysterious part of my mind. I was writing an email to a friend and these words started to flow as quickly as I could write them. I thought I'd share. Just cuz.


When I was in second grade, I remember these paper houses I used to make. I'd cut out beds, toilets, walls, couches, cabinets, the whole floor plan represented by construction paper and Elmer's glue. I can still smell that sour glue, see the orange ridged cap with dried-up residue stuck in the grooves. For some reason, I brought those houses to school and constructed them in class. I don't quite recall how I got away with that, but you'd better believe kids nowadays have a much more rigid curriculum. Progress....makes me ill. I can still see the cafeteria and the milk carton pencil holder with my name on it, perched on the corner of my desk. It's bizarre. I stole books, but returned them. I read them at night under the covers with a flashlight. We listened to Rainbow Bright records in class. I can hear the song, sing the lyrics. A classmate told me that he already saw Back to the Future 2, even though it didn't hit the screens for another year or two. I knew it for a fib. Third grade seemed so scary. The hallway had an eerie feeling to it, as if it would consume me in division with remainders and cursive writing. I had a blue school bag with red trim. It had two buckles on it. My school box had the Presidents on it. It ended with Ronald Reagan. Who was President Filmore, anyway? Garbage Pail Kids consumed my life. The package of cards with the hard gum was like a treasure chest. Maybe you could complete the series - just one more card. My parents got divorced. My dad cried the day he left our townhouse. I don't remember if I did. My nickname at home was Tiffider...it's how I used to say my own name. I made forts out of sheets and pillows in my bedroom like it was nobody's business. The bookmobile always made me giddy. I drank grape Mr. Misty's and ate Nerd's candy...even the cereal. I had a preschool admirer who gave me envelopes with stickers on them. I ignored her and made her cry. My teachers believed in me. I had a dream that I could sit on a frisbee and fly. Maybe I can.