Daily Prompt: Shoulda Woulda Coulda

Daily Prompt: Shoulda Woulda Coulda

Tell us about something you know you should do . . . but don’t.

HA! I’ll try and narrow my list of procrastinations and flat out avoidances, although I could certainly fill a novel’s-worth of pages with examples. Why? 

Ugh. Well, I suppose it has a lot to do with my personal struggle between fantasy and reality. Not that I am unique for enjoying fantasy (be it the literature genre or the turning wheels of my imagination). . .because who doesn’t attempt to escape the daily drudge from time to time? What I mean, is that as I’ve entered my early twenties, I’ve begun to see more clearly the path I walk day after day. I have many interest; many goals; many fleeting ideas and bursts of ecstasy for new found things. I am a lover of adventure and of changing environments. So sometimes I spend more time envisioning my fingers dancing fluidly across the piano keys, playing a self-composed piece and singing my own lyrics (while remembering that I still have only made it to book two in my self-teaching and have yet to find a proper piano teacher). Sometimes I imagine the photo shoot ideas, only to let myself get discouraged by worrying too much about the details or deciding I don’t have a proper model or that people wouldn’t take me seriously for doing the shoot anyway. Most times, I come up with great journaling ideas for drawing and writing combinations, but decide that it isn’t original enough to spend time on, yet it is my personal journal and nobody would see it but me. 

Fantasy does that to me. I realized something worse, though. 

I am nurturing the fantasy, like an egg in an incubator I care for it until I feel it is ready to hatch. That is, if I don’t slam a fist upon its fragile shell first. 

What I mean to say, is that part of me loves to keep these ideas to myself, because having a beautifully kept secret or looking forward to something is nearly better than watching reality take its toll on innocence. As soon as I attempt something, as determined as I may be not to fail, I very well might. If people know your goals, they can judge your outcomes. If they don’t know or they don’t see you attempting a feat, they can’t watch you stumble. 

So, without further ado. . . . I’ll give you some fantasies with a few drudgeries thrown in, too. 

I coulda went home that first night. . .  


May 2011

The first night I tried acid (LSD). It took about three hours for my friends to convince me that it was “harmless and the most eye opening and beautiful experience of your life”. How could a hopeless dreamer like myself turn that down? I could’ve went home; I could’ve worked my shift the next morning instead of getting it covered so I could stay up all night watching the the trees twist and lights shimmer like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales until the sun rose to the sky, high and heavy the next early May morning. It was as beautiful as it was damning. There’s too much more to that story.

 I should stop eating York mints and peanut butter every night….




Not because I might be on a fast track to diabetes, but mostly because of the habit it forms. I have an infinite number of habits that I wish I could break. Giving into this one each night seems to detract from the possibility of breaking the others. Not many habits taste so good, though.    

I should apply for scholarships

I can’t quite remember when I stopped doing this, but I simply got bored because it felt like more schoolwork. Laziness is a deadly vice. 

I should write more. . .

A professor of mine once said, “Writing is a process, not an artifact.

I love to really write. Meaning, I love to write for me and not for an audience or simply for the idea of writing. Unfortunately, the fear of producing nothing always seems to trump my fear of not thoroughly enjoying the writing process. Even if I never showed a soul, the idea of never writing a thing terrifies me because I can no longer treasure the image of myself as a writer. 

Vanity kills. 

I could clutch my little sister  to my chest and bury kisses into her white blonde curls. . . 

and tell her treasured secrets of life’s beauty and ask to hear some of her. We could talk about God and love and we could create together. Create anything we wanted. I could mentor and teach her. I could yield when she spoke, because I know she is prone to spontaneous bursts of wisdom even with only 11 years under her belt. 



See? Look how rad my little sister is. . . .when she was ten she was a vampire for halloween.

Instead, I usually am stressed and busy running out the door. She will watch me carefully, to observe my motions and comment on my outfit. Anything to gain my attention. I usually respond coldly, but I shoulda thrown my arms about her and kissed her, telling her of all the beautiful things we could do. 

I could clean my bathroom. . .

but I did that last month! So I suppose I’ll draw instead. 🙂