Inner Doodles

Dreams are getting stranger and stranger. The stress of social distancing, global deaths, and lack of jobs intertwines in bizarre ways. We are fine, but as an empath, I tend to let it all in to bleed out through my subconscious. ~ I was back at the school and we were slammed. Phone call after phone call to find the children who couldn't make it back to class. Were they at work with their mothers or at home without a ride? Did they have lunch? Did they need new clothing and is there enough in our bin to supply to those in need? I looked at my schedule and there was no way I would make it in time to my reading group. I was still manning the cafeteria. Putting out fires between stressed out coworkers and upset children whose oranges were moldy and who were being overcharged by kitchen staff.* I walked briskly up the winding staircase and found myself in a living room. It was poorly lit, bright blue carpet and there were piles of books and knickknacks in all corners of the house...

Admiral Grandma is taking us to the zoo. Me and Chief Mate and Commander Cousin. The windows are open and there isn't much traffic. It feels amazing to have the breeze on my skin. The sky is orangey, like a soothing sherbet sunset. It has been ages since we have gone out anywhere. I have a strange feeling, like we aren't supposed to leave the house. I ignore my gut and snake my hand around in the wind. The parking garage is ominous. Always is. But it's the cleanest I've ever seen. A fresh coat of cool gray paint makes the floor smooth and inviting. I keep an eye out for lurking bizarros in the corner. My mom taught me to always keep my senses alive in a parking garage. We arrive at the hotel lobby and there are all of the other Admiral Grandparents standing around waiting. They have refreshments. The hotel bellhop arrives and I suddenly remember why we aren't supposed to be going anywhere. He starts to cough. We need to leave. "I think we ought to go back ho...

Walking up and down the aisles of a barren grocery store, I feel disconnected. From what, I can’t quite remember. I push the cart down one row, up the next. They all look the same. The Easter bunnies stare at me. Their adorable eyes mock and tease. Goofy teeth are garish in the fluorescent lighting. I want to squeeze them and bring them home. But I know better. I see dozens of untouched packages of dye for eggs that don’t exist. Seasonal items seem like bric-a-brac these days. Suddenly the aisle begins to shrink. The lighting dims and the grocery store is now a hardware store. Shelves of nails and the pungent and unnatural smell of fertilized soil in a bag. Lo and behold what do I see? A single roll of toilet paper staring at me. It is neatly wrapped in paper. The kind you begrudgingly put on the dispenser while using the restaurant bathroom because no one else will. Suddenly a second roll has appeared on the shelf. I tear up and gently place the two in my cart as if they might disap...