I can’t live under a tree stump in a little wool cap?
I know what you’re going to say; “Sarah you dunce! Living under a tree stump is only for whimsical woodland creatures who need to cuddle up cozy by a fire after a long day’s work! This is the real world! Get bent weirdo!”
Okay. First of all, why would you say that?
Second, I believe there could be a better way.
Picture this in your mind’s eye:
A little hedgehog comes home from a long day of work selling acorns. He pulls off his red woolen mittens and hangs drapes them over his armchair. He yawns, stretching his stubby arms and taking off his tattered brown coat. His room is small, with a thin feather mattress and a small wooden table. He lights a fire in his fireplace, the smoke billowing out into the cold forest night. He changes into his nightgown and cap, giving Ebenezer scrooge a run for his money. He grabs a whittled bowl and a ladle, heating himself up a piping bowl of porridge. He sits at his table, one candle lighting the food in front of him as he slurps down the warm meal. He has not a care in the world as he watches the flames of the fire twist and turn.
I could be that fucking hedgehog.
I could knit myself a wool cap next to the fire, cook stews using only foraged nuts and berries. I could play backgammon with my woodland friends, and drink cheerwine and go on long strolls past a babbling brook!
Why would children’s book illustrators place this fantasy in my mind just to viciously rip it away? I don’t know who hurt them to set every child up for such deep disappointment in their life. This is a Hoodwinked/Fantastic Mr. Fox/Over the Garden Wall induced fallacy. I grew up with an expectation, and I’ll be damned if I have to give that up.
No! This is not just some breakdown that is manifesting itself in a strange hyperfixation because I graduate in a mere couple of weeks. I am not just scared about the jobs or housing or growing up or being truly independent for the first time in my life. That would be silly. I am not just picturing getting away from it all and baking loaves of bread and making jam and whiling away my hours with my friends and being genuinely happy. That is not the American Dream.
We at Buzzsaw (me) just want to understand (weep) about why there is not more woodland real estate available (oh god my future is upon me and I am not ready.)
We just want to know what prohibits us from living the cottage core, fairy-tale, american folklore dream. (Sarah is losing it)
It’s fine…no really, it’s fine. We can’t always get what we want in life. I’ll get a good job, have some kids, explore some more practical hobbies, maybe make a name for myself. I’ll have a good life.
But mentally, you know where I’ll be.
Your editor who is going to frolic off pretty damn soon,
Sarah