I want a giant marsh-mallow! NOW!

So this post is more of a reminiscence of my childhood rather than being revelant to anything I actually did today.

Why, you may ask? Well mostly because I hate mondays. So why would I write about something that I hate? GRR. This monday was no exception, in fact, it was worse than most Mondays, so no way on Earth am I going to write about it - I'm already spazzing out just thinking about it.

I prefer to write about happier, more enjoyable times. Or at least more interesting times.

In retrospect what I am writing about now definitely does not epitomize happy times. But this is the way I feel today - tortured.

I apologize in advance if my writing is atrocious, there is a loud voice quacking in my ear that is making damn near impossible to focus on writing - I'm actually really trying to focus on not screaming shut up. Although, if he doesn't stop soon, well, there are no guarentees that I won't get kicked out of the library for a mental breakdown.

@#$*%@(#*

Ok.. calming down now, breathing in and out. And... we're calm! Or at least calmer than we were. Getting back to what I was actually writing about (I kind of deviated from the original plan for the story by quite a bit).

We, and by we, I mean myself and my family - or whoever else was in the car at the time - would be driving down the endless stretch of country road. I would often stare out the windows on these long journeys (which seemed to take months, if not years) and admire the view. I would savour the lush green grass, and the light blue sky, wishing with all my might that I was playing out there, rather than trapped as a prisoner in my carseat. (I had a car seat for a long time - my parents were, well, a little, over-protective. And by a little, I mean A LOT. It's probably one of the reasons as to why I can be wound a little tight these days.)

On these drives I knew that I would rather be outside playing in the fields with my greatest toy - my imagination. I knew that these fields would be perfect to be a huge, viscious dinosaur, or a lost princess (two extremes, I know, but nonetheless, I still imagined both of them). I knew I would be happier outside, but still I was relatively content inside the car.

And then it happened. And then I saw the thing that made my mood change from content to agitated so violently. I saw, often more than one, big white marshmallows sitting in the field - with no one eating them - ripe for the picking.

All I wanted more than anything in the world was to escape the confines of my carseat and rush outside to devour that huge marshmallow sitting in the field. I knew that if my parents permitted me to do this, I would be the happiest child in the world. And that's what every parent wants right? Their child's happiness.

Yet, despite this, my parents would not pull over. In fact, they were often quite ignorant, and I was crying too hard to make any sense, they really had no idea what I was going on about. They often just thought, op, Kelsey's is just being weird again. No big deal. (I was weird a lot when I was a child).

Everytime I was in a car this happened. Every. Single. Time. Every single time I screamed my lungs out, and every single time, my parents would not pull over. That is crushing to a child's spirit.

Parents suck. Especially when all you want is a marshmallow, and they deny you that one single pleasure.

Eventually, I learned that these marshmallows were not marshmallows at all, but they were bales of hay wrapped in plastic. And do you know what? I was ok with that. Why, you may ask? Because there is nothing more fun to do, when you're at a friends farm, then to wet them down, and slide across them forever.

Those are good memories, ones that make the marshmallow trauma almost seem worth it.

Hey, I said almost.

Oh, there goes my marshmallow cravings again.

Later days, readers.

"I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying."