When wonder calls your name while doing menial household chores

I remember when I was younger (and by younger I mean a couple of years ago) and I still believed in magic  (and by when I still believed in magic I mean of course I believe in magic I’m wishing for a unicorn so I can make a wish on its horn for a fairy),  I used to crave Narnia. This severe, almost tangible longing for a land of magic and beauty and heroes and ADVENTURE would rise up, usually when peering into the dark realms of a wardrobe, or catching sight of a fir tree or you know, anything else.

I knew that it wouldn’t happen (because one of my faults is the ability to produce logic in situations where it is not desired) but I would want it SO. HARD. Wish just for a moment, a long moment where I wasn’t quite ready to exhale that I was wrong. That small but weighty belief that surely if you squink your eyes shut a little tighter, reality will be replaced by lovely, purpley wonder and you’ll be the one, you’ll be the kid who gets an adventure.


While sweeping my house just now, a similar longing popped out of the secret garden of whimsical and stupid desires that will never be realised and said “Look at me! I’m freaking glorious!”. This time it was the often unacknowledged but always present wish that life could just once, JUST ONCE be a music video.


And you know what? How hard can it be? It’s not like I’m asking for an alternate world full of talking beavers and scary-ass ranga queens any more, I can still be sweeping my kitchen, just then we all take turns singing and have better lighting and are intrinsically cool and detached and stuff. And always know the lyrics.

… Sigh.