It was brought to my attention recently that in everything I’ve posted, the post that explains the name of my blog is missing. This is the inspiration behind it.
Who thought up the phrase “word vomit”? It evokes images of little children standing above a trashcan, spewing words while a parent hovers over them spell-check in hand, ready to correct any misspelled chunk. Excuse my political incorrectness, I really meant guardian. We school children don’t have parents anymore; we have guardians.
No one to tuck us in at night, no one to tell us a story and kiss our foreheads: merely someone to stand watch at the door of our fortresses. Our dragons and treasure will be forever protected from thieves, vagabonds and sorcerers, while we have to make our own cookies and clean up our own spilt milk.
Maybe it’s a conspiracy, an attempt to encourage us offspring to grow up faster, allowing said guardians to move on with their lives, move to a more profitable castle, protecting more jewels, larger dragons, prettier princesses? So in the end it’s all about the adults. Will we do this when we reach adulthood? Is there some secret rite of passage to carry us over to the other side (the dark side)? Do we have to go through it or can we remain in our fortresses forever?
I want my fortress to be built out of Lego’s, those things are the shit. A smörgåsbord of colors, red, yellow, blue, green, hues splattered along my walls. My inner child giggles, gleeful at the thought, ecstatic at once again living among my hoard. I’ll live there forever. It’s better than yours, I promise. I think I’ll have my brother design and build my castle; he is a master at creating works of art capable of withstanding a mighty army that has even trolls and elves and wizards among their ranks.