1,019,729.6 just simply isn't enough

Dear Websters,
What is the word for that transitional period between sleeping and dreaming, where your mind is trying to acclimate itself to reality but you've yet come to grips with the dream not actually really happening to you?

How about the word for the feeling and the act of replaying situations in your head until it feels like your skull is vibrating and the memory starts to become warped like a mental Dali painting?

How about when you're craving a certain food but you're not exactly sure what it is? Like, you can almost taste it, you can almost picture it, but it seems to be in your sensory peripheral.

What about the word for the exact moment you discover a particular purpose for yourself? For instance: my corpse-cold hands are absolutely perfect for making pie. (The secret to perfect pie crust is not letting the dough get warm until you bake it)

These are important things that need their own word. They are words that people can relate to.

I have a word for you, Websters. Inadequate. Don't worry, I think you'll find the true meaning of it right there inside of you.

Love,
Kendra

PS. Last line was kind of bitchy. Sorry about that. Thanks for helping me out in high school.

T is for tired

 Dear Dr. Ross,

There are people that are just born tired. Their cells combine, their mouths form, and they yawn. This isn't to say these people are bored. This isn't to say that these people lack appreciation for the world around them. These are people composed of dreams so heavy, their eyes slide closed and their limbs take on too much weight to carry.

You've never gotten enough sleep, Rip Van Winkle, dream, dream, dream.

Take my mother for example. The circles from under her eyes have been there since birth. She awakens when the world is alive around her. The mundane isn't interesting enough to keep ones eyes open. To miss all the impossible things a mind can create, for the sake of unloading a dishwasher. Oh no. That will never do.

That's what I meant when you asked me what my mother was like. Tired wasn't another word for negligent or sad. She is Alice. She sleeps underneath shady trees and dreams of chasing that white rabbit.

She wasn't perfect. But she did make little cakes, breads, jams, and tea. She just happened to sleep a lot, that's all.

Some people just have too many dreams to keep them here for very long.

I really wish I could make you understand that. You seem so antagonistic towards my childhood, my mother, my memories of her gently snoring, and my mouth full of homemade jam.

Love,
Kendra