I might as well wear a uniform...

because I am conforming yet again. Yep, it's a blog, people. I am such a freaking sheep....

So, here's the deal. I need to write like I need to breathe. Ok, not that badly, but it's kinda up there. So do I do it? No. I suffocate myself. I don't let myself write or paint or sing. Ok, the last one is for good reason, but you know what I mean. There are things I need to do to be this person that I am. I need to write. I need to make. If we were created in the image of a creative God I am not being myself by not creating.

That said, this blog is an exercise in living. Will it be filled with life changing thoughts and witty monologues? Not likely. Rather, you should expect lots of run on sentences, typos and brutally honest (and at times embarrassing) thoughts. Hold me accountable if you will, but I am not expecting anyone to read this. More than anything, it's a way to remind myself that I must write- something, ANYthing- even if it's just jotting down the weird (always weird) dreams I had the night before.

I don't remember the dreams I had last night, but I do remember one I had long ago as a child. It's the reason for this blog, in a way. It's the purple car with wings. I had this vision of the exact hue, the angles, the structure. I can even hear the vague hum of the engine. I had no doubt as a kid that it would be my first car. (Let's just say the barely running VW was a bit of a downer.) The weird thing is that I still don't doubt I will own that car in my lifetime. Almost every time I am stuck in traffic I think about that car. I could just pull the lever and the wings would come out and I could soar over the other dumb cars. Oh, the freedom.

The point is this- I don't want to give up on my purple car with wings. I don't just want a purple car. I want one with wings. A cross between Barney purple and magenta, it's not exactly lovely, but it's a symbol of hope for me. It's a symbol of passion. I want to live my life like that car is coming. I want to live out my dreams and see them through. I don't want the child in me to die. I just want her to keep hoping and marking her height in pencil as she grows.

So, here's to conforming with the grown ups when it makes sense and not letting go of the little girl you really are.... To holding out for purple cars with wings and writing about the break downs on the way.

Signed,
Punky

P.S.
I know someone out there wants to make a Britney reference and I won't stop you. Oh, the cheese!