I am in love
with
my imagination.
The relationship I have with it now as an adult with a bank account,
mortgage,
and mutual funds
is more challenging than the one I had in my basement when I was 13.
I would lie in my bedroom with wallpaper-flowers, the Prince record blasting up to the kitchen, letting my mind play pictures and fantasies of what I wanted to experience.
Wishes and real-feeling scenes so far unlike the Iowa town where I lived.
It was ritual – to daydream. Daily.
I called it planning.
As a grown-up
I remember
my imagination is still my best partner, my friend
when I stop making it my enemy.
I understand
I must pause
breathe
and dream the same way I did in my bedroom with flowers.
A daydream, a plan, a mental massage that I truly love.