Momentum equals distraction which negates analysis, the destroyer of happiness. So to stay happy I must stay busy. To stay busy I must force myself to focus on the tasks before me. To stay focused I must have a prize. Gold star sticker motivation has helped a little, but I still find myself wandering, playing that awful game of connect the dots that is never helpful and often leaves me feeling stupid. I can never quite grasp the things I’m trying to connect before the next barrage of thoughts comes at me from a catapult located somewhere just below my lungs.
Maybe none of this is real. Maybe I’m still a baby in my crib and this is all a dream. Maybe I’ll live my whole life only to wake up one day still a child, with just the taste of this dream on the tip of my tongue.
Or maybe I’m not even from this world and the freckles on my skin represent stars from whatever galaxy I came from and form a map that will someday allow me to find my way back home.
Or maybe the constellations are there to show me how to fold the sky like origami and the only thing keeping me from doing it is my belief that it isn’t possible.
My gold star prize was going to be yoga classes, but that changed when I kept hearing “you should have been a dancer.” I agreed and moped about lost chances and then finally realized that I still can. Be a dancer. So when I’ve logged the predetermined fifty hours on my suitcase art extravaganza and have the appropriate number of gold star stickers on my chart, I am going to sign up for ballet classes.
And maybe (just maybe) this will help me feel like my skin finally fits. And maybe (just maybe) I won't feel like I've folded myself into something I'm not. And maybe (just maybe) I'll finally learn to let go.
Or at the very least I'll be able to justify buying a tutu.
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