I had just put my dinner plate in the sink and returned to my living room to watch the rest of some episode of Blue Bloods when a big, bad ghost of fatigue saddled me and drove me to the floor. I laid on my back in front of the TV, staring at the ceiling. I imagined the room tilting upside down and filling with water until I was lifted by invisible hands into the middle of the room. I’d breath in the water and not choke. I’d stretch out and flex my spine and float there, between ceiling and floor, like a princess from Atlantis.

When I was very young, around 6 years old I think, I spent a few days at my grandparents’ house as I was periodically forced to do during school holidays. I hated every minute of it because there were always a lot of people and not all of those people were good ones.

One morning I woke up and had the biggest pee you could fathom. I mean Kelly Slater would’ve been able to ride the waves if I had released it right then and there. But I heard someone outside my room talking to my grandmother. I was terrified of the man. So I stayed in my room. I prayed to God to take them away so I could have a clean line to the loo. But not even God could move them. I sat on the floor, swaying from side to side, hoping to keep Mr. Pee in its place. He thrashed against the lining of my urethra to be liberated.

I remember clinging to my pee and staring out the window at the massive old Willow Tree covered in birds’ nests. One looked just like a little bucket, and I imagined a group of birds lifting the bucket nest out of its position and bringing it down to me. I imagined relieving myself in the little bucket and the release and painlessness that it would bring. The birds would take the bucket out, drop it somewhere in an open field, and return to give me one salute before flying off to rebuild their nest…something not in the shape of a bucket this time.

I ended up wetting myself. But people who are seasoned at keeping secrets know their way around mops and rags, so I cleaned myself and the room before anyone discovered me.

I’m sick of reality. I’m sick of being an adult and therefore having to follow rules of rationality and realism and…you know…gravity. When I was imagining floating in my upside-down-living-room-ocean, I felt better. I want it to be true. I want to be a floating thing that can breath underwater and have all noises blocked out, hearing nothing but subtle tidal movement.

I want stories to be real. I want the good guys to always win. And I want to be clear about who the good guys are.

I want love stories to last forever.

I want there to be mutants with superpowers.

I want to be one of them.

I want all politicians to be men and women of honor.

I want honor to still be a thing.

Sigh. And I want to be able to sleep for 7 days on end without being fired.

Isn’t it sucky to be an adult?

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