I would like to collect shredded pieces of credit cards in the wild hopes of re-uniting them with their kin. I have no desire to use the cards, mostly because I'm content with what I have but also because running from the law takes way too much effort. I just want to have a room in my house that is dedicated to color-coding little shards of plastic, all of which would be meticulously tagged and logged on a spreadsheet somewhere. That kind of organization excites me, but it also makes me wonder if I barely escaped being labeled as autistic.

I miss my daddy telling me a new fairy tale every night, always about Princess Rachel and her adventures with her pet tiger or Prince Charming or whatever.

I miss nap time.

I miss playing with my stuffed animals.

I miss the little checklist I kept in my nightstand with a tally of how many nights I had slept with each stuffed animal, so I wouldn't hurt the feelings of any of them by showing favoritism.

I miss reading Laura Ingalls Wilder books under the covers with a flashlight.

I miss going to the library every week to check out as many new books as I could carry.

I miss dancing freely in the living room to the 1812 Overture, stomping on the ground with all my might when the cannon part came.

I miss playing soccer and speedball in the backyard with my brother.

I miss playing dress-up.

Today, I miss my childhood.

Books Currently on My Desk:

• Chicago Moleskine
• The Book of Lost Tales 1
• The Book of Lost Tales 2
• The Lays of Beleriand
• The Return of the King (paperback)
• The Elements of Style: Fourth Edition
• The Fellowship of the Ring (hardcover)
• The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

I wouldn't trade being me for anything in the world.