Let me paint the picture.
Your back itches and your new white tennis shoes are stained green. Your chubby, sticky, stomach latches n to your - now too small - cotton T-Shirt. Your favorite one, of course. The best part was the go-gurt stain on the belly button.
The sun is going down. The streetlights dim. Tyson Chicken fingers and Kraft Mac and Cheese - Mom's recipe with extra cheese packets and less milk - are steaming on the TV Tray in front of the new Clone Wars episode.
This is that. That is this. It's my way of playing in the yard and coming home to Tyson Chicken Fingers and Kraft Mac and Cheese. Going back to my made-up adventures in my Star Wars Podracing Shop I opened between a cantina and a fuel center on Tattooine. Back to the Heisman Trophy wins in back-to-back years. And you can't forget the championship rivalry series against the "Invisibles" (because they were invisible). Back to being a pilot commanding the army with SR71 Blackbird.
These are places, that was a time, boundaries did not exist. Navigating the world, the problems, my thoughts, my dreams, just took closing my eyes and saying "this exists". So here, it exists - all of it. The absurdity of the world. Investigating it, learning it, and organizing it.
Do you get it? This is my Yard.
Hold tight, my friend. There's a lot still on the horizon. We have time. Grab a beer while you wait. I have Chicken Tenders and Mac and Cheese to eat.
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