Sometimes I’m still five years old, caught in a time warp of comfortable recognition. It’s a dreamy abandon - lost in fantasy, occasionally silly but more often just gone ...somewhere else. And it’s great! A micro vacation in Oz.
When I really was five years old and had to pay attention to the commands of adults, I resented the not-so-pleased voices and faces pulling me away from my dreamy. Today, I can choose to depart at will and come back when I feel like it. I’ve mastered the snap-to switch so driving and operating machinery is not a risky business, though I do recall uh-oh moments in my teens shifting back just... in a nick of time to avoid disaster.
Clearly I would have been labeled ADD, which no one knew about back then, and is an awful acronym for right brained children who abhor all allusions to math homework. But I survived. I can find my keys and get where I have to go, on time. I still however, avoid math, even numbers whenever possible. I continue to speak with creatures, real and imagined, and see myself in kids who delight in designing alien landscapes with the beet juice and congealed butter on their dinner plates.