You know, gray’s my favorite color.

Some days I get this strange desire to write. Not just anecdotal humor from the goofy events of my life, but more like I’m stifling a poet, starving her of the chance to actually be allowed to write for the sake of writing. Stifling. It’s intentional. I don’t need any more reasons to be introverted, so I smother her. That same girl who cries about everything , wants to be a princess, loves pink, knows that her Dad will always be the biggest man in the world, and believes in fairytales (you know, real ones).

But for whatever reason, I never was that girl. Not a big deal, it's just not who I was. I never cried about anything. Princesses didn’t play with legos, Ninja Turtles, or Curtis and Carl. I hate pink. My dad… well, he will always be the biggest man in the world. I’ve yet to meet someone bigger than him. But fairytales were silly- I mean, come on, let’s be realistic. Just like writing. Seriously? I’ll tell you about the "foreboding" clouds- variations in pressure cause them to accumulate, the accumulation blocks the sun, humidity changes, and sometimes it thunders. Call it whatever you want, that’s what happens. Simple as that.

And then I have days like yesterday.

I felt so symbolic yesterday. If I knew Picasso…

I would buy a guitar. I would play. This kind of odd mood is great for getting me back into songwriting.

It was odd. Odd for me, anyway. As I drove home from work, the sky was exactly what I was feeling. It was raining. Nothing too crazy, heavier than a drizzle, but not the usual Florida downpour. The kind of rain that requires wipers, but on a low setting, just to be safe, but the sky was not the customary gray. It was a beautiful blue. The sun was shining brightly, as if to remind you that for as miserable a day as the rain made it seem, there really was nothing to worry about. You’ll get a little bit wet, but it will be over soon, and you can already see the sun smiling knowingly behind the clouds. Sometimes, I’m more than grateful for the visual of something much bigger than me, or the sun. The day did seem miserable. I could have given a million reasons for that, but none of them very good. Or really, even valid. It took a blue sky to convince me of the notion I’d had all day, but I just let it nag instead of giving it any real attention. And I wanted to write about the imagery. 1) I never think about imagery. 2) I don't write.

It’s reflecting on days like yesterday that bring me to the realization that I don’t have to stifle that other girl who doesn’t seem to be me. I can cry about things without bawling my eyes out over spilled milk. I can want to be treated like a princess without wanting to wear frilly dresses. I can be okay with chance moods of poetic imagery without fearing becoming a psycho-introvert who trades pages and pens for human interaction.

And I certainly won’t ever be lost in fairytale land, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wish for one and believe it really can happen. Within reason, of course.