The Wrong Era

Yes, I am wearing a slightly ratty, purple t-shirt with a horse on it. Yes, I know it doesn't match a gray gauze skirt. Yes, I would wear a tutu if I had one available right now. Sometimes I just need to get intouch with my femininity and I can't wear pants.
Sometimes, I think I was born at the wrong time. For one thing, I live in Wyoming and I have this deep longing to play bagpipes. I've wanted to since I was little. Not really a smallpipe, but a full out bagpipe that you can't play in town because it would drive everyone insane.
I also love soundtracks. Worded stuff is nice, but the music... ohhh. I get goosebumps listening to Kara Remembers, Fawkes the Phoenix, A Window to the Past, songs like that. I wish I could play music. I'd be happy just being able to play the Deilide Trace Sonata.

And the Beatles. I love them. You've heard John Lennon, surely. Have you ever heard his son, Julian? Julian sounds so much like John; it's incredible.
Sometimes, I think I'm sentient in the wrong universe, if you go by the string-theory. If not, I was born in the wrong era. I think of people like Alanna of Trebond and go I wish I was her. 
When I was little, my closet became a kingdom, rather like Terabithia. I actually would draw forests and landscapes and tack them up. I had my own crown and queen name and I made up wonderful adventures. And when I played Barbies... the adventures they'd go on. Maybe I grew up feminist because I never had a Ken, but the girls kicked but and ziplined. They broke stuff quite often too. I had one go to the doll hospital several times for beheadings.  I looked at them a while ago, and one of them, I think her name was Meg, had a broken leg, arms, and a nearly busted head. I seem to remember she had a tie-dye glittery cat suit that she wore. Maybe that was part of the problem.
Sweetest dreams,
Pxioe