I can’t think straight. If my head were a line and my thoughts the utensil drawing that line, it wouldn’t be a line but a mess of tangled curves. Occasionally a jagged protrusion would rupture my bubble of imaginative chatter. Spilling out of the wound like fluid logic. When that happens I can concentrate, but most of the time my head is like pulsing udon noodles. I don’t mind that because the misshapen bolus helps me be who I want to be. The undefined shape constantly molds into a new perspective so I never get bored of my inner voice.

Since it’s never boring up here (I’m pointing to my head right now) it also has a tendency to jump on board with quick decisions.

Such as Thursday.

To be honest I didn’t think about What’s The Story? at all before Thursday much less imagine myself being totally swept up by it either. As I was walking out of my last class of the day my friend mentioned that Friday they would be meeting up with What’s The Story? and that I should join. At first a random spike of reasoning poked at my cotton candy jello brain and said, “Hm, don’t think they’re accepting short notice applicants-especially less-than-twenty-four-hour-notice applicants…” but instead I blurted, “Yeah! Sounds great! What do I do?” And ever since then I’ve been considering what I want to do for my passion project concerning the story I want to tell.