and have been every single day this week.

There’s nothing in me

right now.

Nothing.

Except hot tears

and a repressed scream.

Someone, come pick me up in a hot air balloon.

Let’s go somewhere new.

I want to tame a wild bird and let it build a nest in my hair,

play croquet on a perfect lawn

and eat petit fours until I’m fat.

I want to float down a river like The Lady of Shalott, calm, white, strawberry blond.

I want to witness a batch of bats flying out of a belfry

and comb the mane of a horse.

I want to wear shoes that spark when I run down the road.

I want to smell a freshly picked pineapple.

I’d like to wear a helmet made of a watermelon rind.

I want to paddle a canoe under Northern Lights. Again.

I want to grow up, calm down, see straight.

I want to grow down, calm up, see crooked.

I want to build a tree fort and sleep in it and then I want to light it on fire and watch from below: bonfire in the heavens.

I want to feed lettuce to a manatee.

I want to eat a star.

I want to find the spine of an animal in the forest and play it like a xylophone.

I want to milk a buffalo.

I want to play a trumpet with my toes.

I want to take a bath in pure vanilla.

Someone pour an idea, small as a flea, into my right ear.

Or I’ll be forced to make mincemeat of this list and you might not see me for weeks.

PS Actually, as lovely as your flea would be (of this I’m certain), I’d rather use my own fleas whilst pouring. Just hang on. Just hang on Jillian.

PPS Working on this list would be a real pleasure.