Turtle shell

When I was a younger version of me, I loved to play pretend. Not the way you are taught to play pretend as you grow. REAL play pretend. I imagined myself in all the most mystical of places. One of my favorite places to visit was my turtle shell. See, when turtles retreated into their shells, I envisioned it being a quaint, cozy apartment. Something straight out of a Chip 'an Dale cartoon. Sigh. Maybe in another universe.

Also, I'm sorry Annabelle. This fairytale is probably why I always wanted a turtle, but the Rock family had no business having you. Like those people who get a baby chick on Easter. I did my best but I'm sure I good have done better. If you want to turtle slap me when we meet again, I totally understand.

Not here. Not only do turtle shell apartments not exist, there comes a point where even thinking about such things feels almost criminal. Your mind must turn to more practical and grown up things. The more I grow, the more I yearn for the blanket that transported me to my favorite mythical space. The more I think we have it all wrong. The more I think there is no difference between the mythical spaces and this one. Does the barrier exist only because that keeps me safe? Because that's what practical?

No. No I don't think so. Not today. Not anymore.

I choose the turtle shell.

Anyhoo,