Fantastic

I am sitting in a darkened corner of my room. The only light is the pulsing bluish glow from my laptop. My left eye is twitching. I am drooling.

We are now at T minus 4 days.

To date, I have survived 69 days.

Soon my fantasies will become reality. A large, yellow hulking machine will motor down my street, full of promise.

I will stand at the end of our walk, toes just barely crossing the threshold from yard to roadway.

I will close my eyes as its doors swing open in that wonderfully mechanical, levered way. My hair will blow back off my shoulders and my blouse will billow and I will tilt my head back as the smell of Bus washes over me and I will giggle in a way that hints of mental illness. That sensational olfactory montage of vinyl, Clorox, urine, vomit, and spoiled milk will pervade my nostrils and fill my soul with its Goodness.

I will stand there, trembling, and let The Bus whisper in my ears its seductive promises.

When the quivering becomes too much to bear, I will fall to my knees as a small cry escapes my lips. I will reach out tentatively, slowly, till my fingertops grace the corrugated rubber of The Step. The Step that will so confidently bear the weight of my children as they falteringly place their weight on it. The slightest pressure, the suggestion of a toe, and the vortex will be activated and suck them inside its depths.

My heart rate increases, my breathing becomes shallow, erratic. Goosebumps cover my flesh and I feel cool, almost cold.

I let these feelings build inside of me till the anticipation is unbearable, then with an adrenalin surge of strength I push myself off The Step and roll away.

I lay trembling and unable to breath as I watch the children file onto the bus, one by one. Step and swoosh, step and swoosh, over and over again. Multiple times.

The Bus pulls away and I lie in the overgrown grass and I gasp.

I am spent.
















Even this juggling chick fantasizes about such things. Don't let her Betty Crocker apron and June Cleaver hairdo fool you.
My other fantasies (besides the school bus and my farrier), include rising in the ranks on the TMB site. Please help me along by clicking on this brown button. Thanks!



Image courtesy gizmodo.com