Streets of Consciousness

I was walking along the streets of my consciousness when I heard a pitter patter on the pavement just a few paces behind me. So naturally, I looked over my shoulder to see that the approaching footsteps belonged to a little version of me. Alright, I know what you're thinking. But please. Save your sass, comebacks, and what you think are clever remarks until the end because I hate to break it to you, but you're about the millionth and first person to lack originality when it comes to highlighting my height deficiency, but anyway…. her name was Innocence. She was flawless. Scrunchies held her pigtails in place and she had sewn plastic beads onto the ends of her socks that went waaaay past her ankles. But let me tell you about those rainbow beads, and how they "clinked" in harmony with her I-may-or-may-not-still-be-learning-how-to-tie-my-shoes velcro straps and her oh-I-wish-my-walk-came-with-a-theme-song light up shoes. Her feet were a symphony when it was her turn to double dutch. She came a little closer, tilted her head at me and said, "Hey, I know you. But I don't recognize you. Why don't you ever hopscotch with me anymore?" For a second I reminisced about the time when I had to get a circle-circle-dot-dot cootie shot just to talk to that precious thing across the playground. I looked at her and I said, "Honeychild. I don't hopscotch. I drink scotch, with much difficulty of course. I mean, if that can't make you breathe fire, it will at least grow some hairs on your chest. And I traded in my Barbie kicks for a pair of high heels that hurt like hell after a good long while, but they demand attention, and as for scrunchies.... they work for 90's parties. And pretty much any other occasion in which you need to hold you hair up but-” Mid sentence, I'm interrupted by a monarch that flutters by. And just like that, she's preoccupied. I was walking along the streets of my consciousness when I felt someone playing with the back of my shirt…and resting their hand on my lower back. It did not take me a second to realize exactly who this was. He was Trouble. I could sense the charm in his breath and the slyness on his skin. His collarbone was a clever, clever thing. It was like a gravestone for all the forgotten lips and forgotten hips and forgotten misses that were never missed. No, he was not wearing a leather jacket. No, he was not covered in tattoos, and no, he was not straddled over a gleaming Harley Davidson But that smile was like a contagion and no amount of orange orchards could make me immune to the amount of sweet talk that this man can produce. But i doesn't hurt to try. So i'll make a toast to Trouble every morning with a glass of O.J., and maybe on Sundays it will be spiked with a little champagne and I'll say, "Here’s to probably having my fair share, but never falling too hard for guys like you." I was walking along the streets of my consciousness when I ran into an old friend: Sensibility. I asked where all the Senses had run off too, Common Sense in particular. She informed me that Common had eloped with Makes No and she suspects that their kids will suffer from a perpetual identity crisis, but at least they will always know exactly what to be confused about. She gave me a long hard look and said, "I haven't seen you in ages. Where were you your entire adolescence? Why didn't you ever come looking for me?" Without a second of hesitation I said, "I live a life of spontaneity. You want to go parasailing? Down. Wanna skydive? I have a full on MC Hammer Parachute Suit straight out of the absurdity oven. You want to do something that you're hopefully going to laugh about in the foreseeable future? I'll take my chances because when it comes to my sense of humor, it is infinite. Until I have to deal with reality. Let alone responsibility. Which got me thinking… maybe there's a place where tacky socks and Rico Suaves and rational irrationality can coexist. And if not, well then I guess that something's gotta give. I was walking along the streets of my consciousness, coming up to the last turn that brings me back to earth when I see Worry, and Anger, and Regret just sauntering by. Before they can get a word in edgewise, I swerve and I'm just like, "Psh. Ain't nobody got time for that." And I've been walking ever since.