Ice Cream for Breakfast

At the moment I am sitting in a quaint coffee shop around the corner from my house and enjoying a bowl of delicious lemon-lime ice cream at 9:30 in the morning.  My inner kid is having a ball inside my head right now.  She’s sticky fingered, fat cheeked grinning, and wants to spin around in circles with her arms stretched out until gravity takes over and she pukes in the lilac bushes.

And I am going to let her.  All except for the puking part because, no, been there, done that, am still trying to get rid of the icky tee-shirt.

It’s easy to forget about our inner kids the older we get, to push them aside in favor of worrying about “real-adult” stuff, especially when bills are due and your supervisor is breathing down your neck and, holy cheese balls, I swear I just took my car in for an oil change, what do you mean it’s gotta be done again?

We sigh and groan and stop playing with our inner kids because all this shit is piling up and we don’t have time.  Then, I bet you fifty bucks if you’re anything like me, you drag yourself to the keyboard and try to get to work on your current masterpiece and, whammo, putting together a sentence is like trying to hold on to a pissed off fish that’s been swimming in bacon grease.  No matter how hard you hang on or how many moves you think you have, that fish is having none of your shit and is gonna slap you in the face with its tail before it disappears into the murky bacon water it came from.

But you keep after it, right?  I mean, that’s what everyone tells you “real” adulthood is about.  It’s mostly work, only a little bit of play, and you just have to suck it up and deal, buttercup, because this is as good as it’s gonna get.

Yeah, no.  The definition of insanity is performing the same task over and over again hoping for a different result.  And just because most of us creative types qualify as some type of crazy, doesn’t mean our crazy has to be boring or unproductive.

Creativity is essentially the brain at play.  It’s making stuff up that doesn’t yet exist.  It’s putting things together and making something different.  It’s laying on the couch with our heads hanging off the edge and looking at everything upside down through a Kaleidoscope because that’s as close as you can get to dropping acid without actually dropping acid.  Or however that expression goes.

So, that bacon covered fish of inspiration?  You’re not gonna catch it going in bare-handed using society’s normal road map for achieving stuff (work hard, laser focus, no keg parties, blah blah blah).  You’ll catch it (and keep it) by throwing the adult rules out of the window and indulging in the awesomeness of play.

You decide whatever constitutes play for you.  It’s whatever makes your inner child shriek with unholy glee at the thought of doing.  For mine, ice cream for breakfast is a pretty damn good start.  So is buying myself a package of crayons and a kickass superhero coloring book.  Or watching Disney movie.  Or acting out the Titanic bow scene solo shouting, that’s right, bow down to your queen and empress, bitches.

Do something fun.  Do something silly.  Invite that fish to walk on land and hand that finicky fucker a cane and a stovepipe hat, because ya’ll are gonna invent something awesome.  Adulthood and all it’s suck will still be there when you finish, but not until your recess is over.  So go.  Have fun.  Indulge.  Create.  Get messy, as the wonderful and wise Mrs. Frizzle used to say.

Just try not to puke in the bushes, because no one wants to see that.

 

©Shiloh Ohmes 2013

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