Blue Moon

Once in a blue moon I decide to stop and take inventory of things. What things you ask? Life, stuff and the occasional random thought. I was told when I was very young, "Just wait till you grow up." or "You'll feel different when you're older." I've been waiting, you know, to feel all grown up and it still hasn't happened completely. Maybe there's something wrong with me. The "old" gene was missing or something. Alas, my body has no problem growing older but my mind, spirit, who I am is still a kid. Having raised one kid and started on a second ten years ago, I found it amusing that I could play with toys by saying "they're my kid's." What shall I do once my second offspring grows up? I guess I'll always be hopelessly young at heart. I still love to skate, go to amusement parks, ride the biggest roller coasters and go down the steepest water slides. I still get looks when I swing at the park. I bought a trampoline for myself...uh, I mean my kid, yeah that's right. What joy it is to defy gravity, if only slightly. The wind in my hair as I spring up into the sky, only to fall with great buoyancy to the springy surface. If I've heard it one time I've heard it a thousand, "You should act your age." Apparently someone forgot to give me the "age manual". Since I don't have the rule book, then should I act my age by observing others my age? That would be quite a task considering not everyone acts the same. Sure, they follow specific fashion do's and don'ts, but overall they all have different hobbies. Hmmm, I should take up scrap booking, gardening or cooking? Uggh! I like to eat, not so much the cooking part. Scrap booking is fun but way too much time and money I would prefer to use elsewhere. I love a beautiful garden as long as someone else tends to it. Plants seem to know that I am unable to devote a large portion of my time on them. Instead of waiting interminably for me (and dying a slow death), they resign themselves to the fact that a quick suicide is the answer.
So, I look at my life and my things and realize that I somehow missed the whole adult part. I work and write and pay my bills but that's the most adult thing I do. In my free time, outside of writing, I read old comic book collections, fantasy and sci fi books, go to nerdy conventions, jump, run and play. I write odd poems and books which still haven't connected with the right agent and enjoy watching funny shows.
I know that there is an agent out there who wakes up, gets a cup of tea, puts on a long black jacket and heads to the office in an old building full of interesting dark things. This agent opens query after cheery query letter hoping to find the one writer who truly understands Edward Gorey, Tim Burton and David Lynch movies. The writer who feels and lives in her own fantasy world of strange and wondrous things. This agent, picks up such a letter and smiles weakly. He pushes back his long dark bangs and hopes, maybe just maybe this is just such a writer. He snuffs out the candles burning slowly on the candelabra above his ancient desk and mails his response. This is the stuff which dreams are made.