Yesterday, I had a writing exercise that involved hypnosis (uh, don’t ask).   While we were “under”, we were supposed to focus on the first thing that popped in to our medulla oblongata.   The only crystal clear vision I had involved pigeons … of all things.

Everyone around me found some sort of Zen place that involved beaches or puppies.  And that was what they wrote about.   I struggled to find anything warm and/or fuzzy.  In my deepest sleep, I saw a stairwell, some green moss and a slew of pigeons.

When I asked the instructor what it meant, she said she didn’t know.  I should just write about whatever my subconscious was telling me.  And, in this case, my brain was telling me to write about “winged rats”.

I looked around … people were furiously scribbling about their Shangri-La.  Some were even humming.  I had nothing redeeming to write about.  And since I had already mentioned my dilemma, I couldn’t exactly switch topics.

So with three and a half minutes left to come up with something awe-inspiring … this was what I wrote:

“My brain conjures up thoughts of little winged rodents.  And there I am standing on a stairwell looking at them.  I’m in some sort of metropolitan hell.   I’ve had very little interaction with pigeons in real life.  Once I kicked a gull that was in my way.  Does that count?  I really want them to get the flock out of my head.”

Yes, I believe a 4^th grader could have written a better essay on pigeons WHILE asleep than I did.  But I did give it the ol’ college try.  Up next, a quick visit to my therapist to find out why my warped mind is fixated on pigeons … of all things.