Is This A Banana I See Before Me?

Things are simpler when you are exhausted from a day of school and haven't eaten anything but inhaled chalk dust all day. If there is a banana laying on the table, you eat it. That's just the way it is. Even though you don't know where it came from or why it was on that table. Or where that table came from. After so many classes i'm lucky enough to remember what a banana is.  My day was quite eventful. I adopted an felted owl-penguin crossbreed, was taught by my circus friends how to juggle (we're working on sword-swallowing next week, i'm sure), and...and...ok, so a busy day with a few interesting highlights. The only other unusual thing I can think of is observing my friend Laurel (um...I mean, Laura) eat a can of asparagus. Swallowed whole. Without chewing. And drink the juice afterwards. Come to think of it that isn't too unusual for Laurel... This happens every time I don't blog for a few days. One minute i'm prolifically inspired by milkshakes and crickets, the next i'm resorting to telling you in detail about eating a banana. If I keep waiting too long in between writing you might just get post entitled things like "101 Ways to Painlessly Remove Nose Hair", "An Essay on the Difference Between the Phthagoream Theorem with Negative Integers", and "I Can Believe It's Not Butter: How Fake Dairy Saved My Life." If you've ever read the classic-worth-reading "The Little Princess" where the servant girl awakens every morning to find her dingy attic filled with lovely things and an almost magically appearing meal, you have a somewhat-similar example of what has been happening since school started up and Dad has promised to make dinner every Tuesday Night. We come home, dragging ourselves through the door like tube socks that have been through the wash (and the little ones are just as teary) and there, unexpected before us, was a feast of Little Princess proportions! Only Dad wasn't wearing a bedraggled gown and holding a porcelain doll.(Thank goodness. I'd be mighty suspicious of the chicken if he was.) Sure, the chicken was a rotisserie chicken from Sams. And yes, the creamy potato salad had been poured from a plastic tub into the porcelain serving dish. And Dad didn't bake that crispy French bread, just had it sliced and arranged. But when all you've had to eat all day was a mysterious banana and you expected to be dining on cereal and past-date milk? It was heavenly. The herb butter sauces (yes, he DID make that) and frosted donuts didn't hurt, either. Watching all that Food Network on vacation has finally payed off. I'm sure i'll be struck with new literary inspiration to write on something very soon, like staplers. Or pineapples. Until then you'll just have to live a while longer in the depressing, hopeless state that is without-Hannah's-Emails. Keep calm and carry on, mate! As for me, i'm going to go fold myself into the my warm, fluffy bed and sleep like a very happy rock. Well, until my mom turns on the lights and we stumble outside to go running at 6 a.m. I'd rather not think about that right now. Custard-Filled Clouds, -Hannah