Cramped

another monday like so many others. the day is barely half over, and already my shoulders feel tightly wound and hunched over. the small of my back feels scrunched down into my tailbone. and the real me feels cramped into a very small space.

i want to do a lot of things that i haven't done in a long time.

i want to put on my rubber shoes and run -- even if i'm not one of those athletic people who runs gracefully -- and sweat. maybe dance too.

i want to stretch out in a patch of scorching hot sun and close my eyes.

i want to lie on my stomach on grass, or a carpet, or on wooden floorboards, with paints and paper scattered in a wide radius around me.

i want to rub pencils, pen, crayons, oil pastels into paper the only way i know how -- impatiently and emphatically, seized by a fit of inspiration that exhausts itself quickly.

i want to sit down at a computer and tap-tap-tap away at the keyboard, writing about something that has moved me in some way, something that i care about or something that needs to be written about -- even if i don't know what it is.

i want try on lots of pretty clothes and waltz out of the store without buying anything. (mango has some great stuff in stores now, marrakech-inspired and very me.)

i want to think up something fun to do.

i want to dig my toes into sand.

i want to water a garden in shorts and rubber slippers, preferably in the late afternoon when the sun makes everything look like it did when i was a child. since it's hot, i also want to drench myself with a hose.

i want to run away. anyone want to come along?