scream

There are always children screaming around this time of day. The elementary school nearby provides me with a multitude of shrieking reasons to get out of bed on days when my funemployment feels more like straight up laziness. Even though elsewhere people are eagerly counting down the hours left in the workday, and in cyberspace my inbox is steadily overflowing with unread messages, the children across the street are running, laughing and screaming themselves alive.

I can't stay in bed any longer when I hear them going off. And I'm by no means annoyed - I'm riddled with curiosity. When was the last time I squealed like that?! Did I ever make those high-pitched sounds when I was their age, going wild at recess . . . ? I had to, right . . . ? So how come I don't remember?

And why did I stop?

. . .

I'm going to scream right now.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Shit, man. That was amazing.