A while ago I wrote under a pen name. I will not give it to you, it was a way to anonymously get some stuff off my chest. I just found all my old writings saved on our computer. I think a couple of them are ready to have my name attached to them. So you will see some of my 'free-writing' pop up from time to time. Some of them are truths, some are fiction, some are fiction based on truth. I'll give you a short one for the time being.
Breakfast at my house
Every morning I wake up to the sounds of spoiled children dying of starvation. It does not matter how many times they went back for seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or fifths of dinner last night, in the 12 hours between dinner and breakfast, their bodies have digested all the food in their stomachs, and apparently all their body fat as well.
We have tried discussing the "There are starving children in China" thing, and they don't get it.
So, day after day, I roll my sleep deprived self out of bed, throw on a robe, (where the heck are my glasses?) and go pour a bowl of sugar laden dino puffs for my malnourished children. Half a bowl later, the remnants of some poor dino that's been puffed are in the trash, and my lovely daughter and son are bouncing off the walls. Luckily, I get to pass them off to their teachers during the week. Weekends are worse. There is no one to take them off my hands, and since we don't have the time-to-get-on-the-bus rush, they want me to cook. The house specialty is chocolate chip pancakes--I have the recipe memorized. Which wouldn't be all that bad, except for the maple flavored high fructose corn syrup and powdered sugar they insist on adding to the mess on their plates.
Anyone want a couple of kids for the weekend?
So there you have it. A small taste of my imagination. Except this one isn't very far from the truth.