My Moon Chair Must Have a Magnet, My Brain Must Have a Leak

My feet tingled, alerting me I had been sitting too long. It was the evening before D-Day, Destination Day. The next morning I would leave early to fly Westward and be gone for two whole weeks, folicly in vacational bliss.

My tummy suddenly growled. My mind began to wonder about various snack arrangements as I lay sprawled on my moon chair. I had eaten all the ice cream cones (without the ice cream, of course). My beloved gummies were safely packed in my luggage that threaten to burst at any given time. The candy stash had been pocketed by my sister, never to return. The stairs leading to the kitchen seemed a lifetime away as I lazily considered possible eating choices from my round, fluffy chair. Hunger was calling my stomach, yet I stayed as my brain began to mess with my eyes—obviously blinded by the hunger my stomach was announcing.

My ceiling transformed into strands of Twizzlers. My carpet became a sea of gummies, the red heart kind too, my uber favorite. Soon all my furniture was turning into my most-craved snack foods and I laid there amusedly, as I imagined my bed being cinnamon toast with marshmallow pillows. Clocks became pizzas, lamps became exotic popsicles, collectibles became Chinese donuts or roasted coconuts, dresser drawers turned into whole sheets of Belgium chocolate laced with Mandarin oranges, (which, by the way, is so good it’s to die for).

I rustled in my moon chair and surveyed my tasty surroundings. Like any good writer would, I reached over on my shelf and grabbed a notebook (which had miraculously remained inedible) and instead of ceasing my cravings for all things delectable, wrote down my happenings as inspiration had finally hit me. After all, everyone knows that the pen (when written in earnest) is always before the pizza, if you ever want anything published, even if it's from a moon chair.

I think I’ll go get a snack now. ^_^

P.S. Although on second thought-- if you have a freshly delivered pizza, eat that first, write later. Cold pizza sucks. What also sucks is I can’t even eat pizza anyway. Grrr.

Sincerely, Lizzie ♥