Once Upon a Princess Fair

I’m sitting by the side of the busy motorway (that’s highway (or maybe autobahn (or perhaps autoroute (or possibly autopista (or … whatever!))) to people outside of the UK) of my mind (ha – bet that took you by surprise). I’m watching my thoughts go by.

Or rather – I was until I began typing. Of course, now, I’m picking each of my thoughts up, with the fingers of my mind, and transferring them to this screen (with the fingers of these hands) one by one.

Typing as an alternative to mindfulness. Hmm – viable or not? Do you ever use writing as a means to get thoughts out of your mind and onto the (virtual) paper?

I’m only musing on this subject because I feel a need to say something. Anything. To someone. Anyone. Hell, that sounds sad. Tell you what, I’ll write a story instead.

Once, up in a mountainous kingdom – a time long, long ago – way before last week, there lived a pretty princess. She loved cashew nuts. She wore jogging bottoms in bed (yeah, just jogging bottoms … pink ones with a beige strip down the side of each leg). She liked to eat raw parsley sandwiches. And she hated me telling stories about her. So she had me beheaded. And then she lived happily ever after. Sort of. You see, when she got older, she developed a bad case of warts on her nose. In fact, she had warts on her warts. And I’m pretty sure too that one of her warts was on one of the warts that was on a wart that was on the very tip of her nose. Still, she bore/beared? (wore/weared?) it well. Had on a veil most of the time. One of those really heavy black ones that you see women with astounding eyes wearing. I saw one today, in fact. Black from head to toe (yeah, the … garment, not the skin) and then these liquid brown eyes with massive eyelashes highlighted with kohl (eyeliner). Just saw them for a second, but … well, I’m still thinking about them now, aren’t I! The princess didn’t quite have eyes as lovely as these. But they were still quite pretty. In a princess kind of a way. A blonde haired princess kind of a way.

Anyway, the fridge sounds like it’s snoring (ha – Grammarly want to change that to snowing – can you imagine!) and it’s putting me in mind of my bed.

Gosh, who reads this stuff! Aren’t you just glad it’s you?