Bear with me as we uncover the brain dumps of my first Creative Writing class.

 

September 1st

First Day of School

I sat anchored in anxiety in a hot room yet presently I sit somewhere cooler. Much cooler in both temperature and emotional sense. Is it hormonal? Perhaps. I am grateful to have been in a room full of other humans breathing too. It was the first moment I didn’t feel alone. I am grateful for all of my brilliantly wonderful professors! Smells of cellulose like a sweet almond fragrance used to cause soft mourning within me, yet here I am missing that nostalgia. I miss Nebraska quite often nowadays. I belong somewhere, I’m just unaware of the habitat. I belong somewhere, I just don’t know yet. I belong to the sun.

 

Memories

I remember not the taste of tomato soup and grilled cheese.

I remember the smell of Nanny’s Swedish pancakes.

I remember skipping school often to have a mama’s day.

Earliest: I remember sitting next to Sam while mom jogged us in the two-seater stroller.

Embarrassing: I remember the stranger finding a band-aid in my hair at Sunday mass.

Surprising: I remember getting a scholarship to Parsons.

I remember the taste of ham balls.

I remember the taste of my first Starbucks order.

I remember the smell of a pleasant walk in St. Paul.

cologne

 

I No Me (Earliest Memory)

More time to spend with mom is more bliss. The babe was a toe head, and so was her brother. The ornery duo they were. Always causing a ruckus in Target for their mother to frequently scold them and their poor convenience store manners. Though mom was in hammock when these two were together, they undoubtedly had fun. Mom had to get her sweat in a crazy day, and would jog.

 

A Memory I Remember Not

It was merely stuck in absence. An isolation. Nowhere to turn I took a mother’s pill. It was after this I legally fell into a splenda of psychedelic bliss. It was scarlet mandalas with a twirling chubby cherub I saw first, hours passed as I was dazed by this babe. Then it was hueless, past trip.

 

An emotional diagnosis of the death. Going back to an empty home, four walls that didn’t talk served as the loners friend. She wanted nothing more than to taste two greasy pieces of sourdough bread swelling of grease, cheese. (personal essay to be continued…)

 

Isolation of the peoples, a human race with no hope. Some took a devil’s pill to see scarlet mandalas and a chubby cherub twirling in psychedelic bliss. ONly for the loner to find a pale hueless world in hammock after the hours of trip. How does one deal (story to be continued…)

 

September

I am grateful to be here. I do miss it, yet I feel as though I may belong here one day. I love sweetgreen. I am grateful for the lunch that filled my belly! My mind feels chattery but I will be thoughtless for the next couple of hours. May I be gentle to myself as I navigate through these tough times. Am I willing to risk sanity for prestige? When will I know that I am home? How do I know where it is? Will I come to it by accident? Or is it something that I find on adventures? I feel at peace. I will focus on going to bed early tonight. I am healing. I can feel self-love running through my veins. I

 

Magical Object: Frog Headed Pencil Sharpener

I bound back up to my childhood room and throw my luggage onto my yellow daybed, rolling myself into a burrito with my quilt. Rage fills through me and I dramatically charge to my innocent desk and swipe the trinkets onto the floor.

“Ow.”

The monotonous onamonapia startles me and through the rubbish, I find my frog-headed sharper that my grandfather got for me at a tackle shop in Colorado. I pick up the object and say, “Was that you?”

“Certainly,” it replied.

Flabbergasted by its honesty and as I wonder more I ask its meaning for it being an English speaking object. It replies by shooting its nut-butter tongue out at me. After he sprays me with blended peanuts he says is a magical sharpener that can dispense the most delicious of peanut butter. Just then I feel my throat begin to close. I look quickly to check if I was hit by this frog’s peculiar bodily functions, and see the smear of a beige streak of peanut butter on my lip. Panick sets in.

“What’s the matter with that? What do you have against my brilliant superpower?”

“I’m severely allergic to peanut butter. It causes me to swell with rasehs and my throat closes within two minutes!”

Just then this frog adapted a lilac aura and we are transported to a mushroom village.

 

ADHD Brain Dump

What is in the existence of a dreamer? How does a dreamer manifest their reality?

I haven’t fallen in love, yet I do every day. I fall in love with the mundane. What is in the existence of the mundane?

O sweet mother, my eyes well to a thought without maternal splenda.