Sometimes, I think if I got just one wish-and I couldn't wish for say, the cure to cancer or the end of world hunger or nicer less violent people-I'd wish to be sent back in time. Maybe the times of King Arthur? That's about the time line where Dom lives. Or maybe way back, around the times of Jesus? Things seemed much simpler then. People had a trade and they did it, and they had fabulous festivals and vibrant clothing and decorations and delicious food. Maybe I could go to middle-ish Egypt and be one of the pharaohs concubines? I'd get to sit around all day and eat what I want, though I'd also have to constantly weave cloth and such. I wouldn't even have to sleep with the pharaoh because didn't they have thousands of concubines? I bet they don't even go through half that amount every year. They just have so many to look at and brag about. Maybe I could go to the eighteen hundreds and become a pirate! There were lots of female pirates, plus I could always pretend I'm a boy! Why would I wish for these things when I could have a billion dollars or Charlie McDonnel instead? Because even if I had a billion dollars or Charlie, eventually I would get bored. Which is what I am right now.
I flop down on my bed, which I left unmade in retaliation to my mother, and heaved a desolate sigh. I watched my ceiling fan spin slowly and imagined the turning blades to be the gears in my mind. Slowing down, slower and slower until they come to a complete stop. This wouldn't happen, for even when sleeping or in a coma we have brain waves. But I like to imagine it, throw in a small mouse in a tiny pair of overalls and a mallet and it's Hickory Dickory Dock! The mouse who ran up the clock, or over the brain gears, and struck the gong or went around whacking things when they weren't working properly. The poor mouse will have a complex about his name, and will insist on being called Hickory. "Do not call me Hick, as I am not a hick. In fact, I am quite the city mouse and I am very well educated! I believe Dick explains itself, and I am NOT a bunch of boards where you tie up boats, thank you very much." I imagine him squeaking very snobbishly at me. He has a British accent, then a Boston one. Good lord, I need a distraction. I sit up and immediately regret it as I feel the blood rush about my brain and my vision clouds. Music? I slide off the bed and then roll across the floor because it seems too much effort to get up and walk to my desk where my iHome rests. The buttons click and the iPod's light goes on and Clay Aiken croons "Mary did you know!" at me. I scoff in disgust and click next. Alex Gaskarth's voice sails from the speakers and I flop back with a relieved sigh. Why do I have that song on there anyway? I hardly ever listen to it and generally Clay Aiken annoys me. But sometimes I really like listening to that song. So I keep it on and just skip it unless it's one of those sometimes.
I flop down on my bed, which I left unmade in retaliation to my mother, and heaved a desolate sigh. I watched my ceiling fan spin slowly and imagined the turning blades to be the gears in my mind. Slowing down, slower and slower until they come to a complete stop. This wouldn't happen, for even when sleeping or in a coma we have brain waves. But I like to imagine it, throw in a small mouse in a tiny pair of overalls and a mallet and it's Hickory Dickory Dock! The mouse who ran up the clock, or over the brain gears, and struck the gong or went around whacking things when they weren't working properly. The poor mouse will have a complex about his name, and will insist on being called Hickory. "Do not call me Hick, as I am not a hick. In fact, I am quite the city mouse and I am very well educated! I believe Dick explains itself, and I am NOT a bunch of boards where you tie up boats, thank you very much." I imagine him squeaking very snobbishly at me. He has a British accent, then a Boston one. Good lord, I need a distraction. I sit up and immediately regret it as I feel the blood rush about my brain and my vision clouds. Music? I slide off the bed and then roll across the floor because it seems too much effort to get up and walk to my desk where my iHome rests. The buttons click and the iPod's light goes on and Clay Aiken croons "Mary did you know!" at me. I scoff in disgust and click next. Alex Gaskarth's voice sails from the speakers and I flop back with a relieved sigh. Why do I have that song on there anyway? I hardly ever listen to it and generally Clay Aiken annoys me. But sometimes I really like listening to that song. So I keep it on and just skip it unless it's one of those sometimes.
