i am capable of lying on the couch in a quiet and otherwise unoccupied room for upwards of forty-five minutes at a stretch, awake and alert, eyes open and fixed on some immaterial object, a corner of a curtain, a patch of shadow, an expanse of wall. i am not meditating, my mind is not clear.
in these intervals, the cast of characters changes roles, fairy-tale style. the mouse is a footman, the pumpkin a carriage, and the wooden boy makes a cameo as a flesh and blood human, fully grown. the mirror that meets my gaze is honest, however the images it returns to me are suffused with a warm glow that is not one hundred percent accurate. metaphors mix like this in my mind as i shift from the daydream to the inevitable state of wanting to write about it; nothing escapes this wanting, though many things never make it as far as the lighted page.
i am changing, first in my imagination and foremost in these words, and last but not least, in reality, as long as the reality in question is entirely subjective and flexible.
i have a disclaimer for you now: events represented have been altered from the original: they have been interpreted by a madwoman, edited accordingly, & formatted to fit your screen.