I’ve really got too many balls to juggle all at once.  Keeping them all in the air was easy when there were two.  Three wasn’t too much more difficult.  Four was a bit tricky.  Five made me a bit anxious.  Six gave me heart palpitations.  And I can see you there, holding that seventh ball with an evil sort of grin on your face.  Don’t you dare throw it.  Don’t you dare.  Balls fall.  I fall. We all fall down.

Now I am sitting on the floor — balls all around me.  They seem to keep multiplying.  It is almost like I am in one of those funny playrooms at McDonald’s.  I AM in one of those funny playrooms.  And the balls keep on multiplying.  They are rather pretty. Blue. Red. Green. Yellow.  Lots of pretty plastic balls. Up to my chin.  Over my head.  I am covered in balls — drowning in balls.

The floor dissolves and the balls begin to shrink.  They lose their colour and all go white.  I reach out my arms and my body tips so that I am lying on my belly on little white balls.  They are made out of styrofoam and they continue to shrivel up, smaller and smaller and smaller.  They support my weight brilliantly and I feel lighter than air.  But they are getting too small.  I have to close my eyes and I am breathing them up into my nostrils.  No.  I can’t inhale.  I can’t.  They’ll fill my lungs.  But the need to breathe is too powerful and I suck them in.  In they go like so much cotton wool.

It actually isn’t too bad.  I can breathe them in and breathe them out.  They aren’t styrofoam any longer.  It’s water vapour.  Water vapour. I open my eyes and I am in a cloud.  I am part of a big white fluffy floating-above-the-earth cloud.  I roll over onto my back and gaze at the blue sky above me.  Deep rich royal brilliant blue. Blue floods my eyes and makes them water.  Tears pour forth from my eyes, roll tickling into my ears, then down toward the earth.  The tears turn into rivers and water flows down raining upon the dark hard dusty earth.

I slowly shrivel up, wrung out like an old cloth.   I am thin, so thin I am transparent.  A breeze comes up and gently blows me through the air, across the sky, tossing me this way according to its whim.  I am dandelion fluff.  One small seed, one tiny speck of wild potential being carried on the wind, hanging on to a wispy white piece of fuzz.

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Today’s assignment:  Free writing day.
Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop.
No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go.
Four-hundred words. One at a time. Go.
Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

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