"Welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?"

Who would have thought such a simple question could cause a ripple in the vey fabric of time and space?

Here I am again: precocious, cherubic, eagerly awaiting my kid's meal (or more likely a full-fledged combo, as I've always displayed a rather mature appetite). I dutifully sit in the back seat, my mom and grandmother navigating us through the drive-thru of what was once one of the only fast food joints in our bedroom community. Finally, we inch forward and hear THE infamous question. Now, does Grammy order the whopper--NO tomato and NO mayo--and a Coke slush like we rehearsed? Much to my adolescent shock and awe, she busts out laughing. Apparently, the unknowing drive-thru cashier's voice came across as an unintelligible mumble, causing Grammy to break down in fits of laughter.

Now, the thing to note about my family is that one of us cannot simply laugh alone; we must laugh as a clan (this has gotten us in trouble multiples times, in such notable locations as movie theaters and church). Once my mom realized what happened, a cascade of chokes and sputters flew forth from her mouth, followed by a slew of squeaks from me back in the peanut gallery of our old van. The three of us cackled and coughed, while the poor cashier just tried to do her job. Just as we began to compose ourselves, she repeated the now infamous question, once again plunging the family into hysteria. Realizing that attempts at composure were futile, Grammy sped off; we were nevermore destined to order from the drive-thru.

I want to enjoy it

The change that will come

The air that will force away cloud after cloud

And bring forth bee and bird and flower. 

I will enjoy it

I will force my mind out of the grey fog I lived in all winter long 

And will probably return to come autumn

And I will watch the world become bright and new again

In preparation for next winter. 

I looked at my phone: 2 AM. I threw on gym shorts and a hoodie, because I knew I didn't have to get dressed up to impress you. I headed downstairs, got in my car, and silently took to the road. The streets were empty as I turned one corner after another, until finally I rolled up the familiar drive, noticing your lights were still on. Success. 

The interaction was brief: I said what I needed to say, and money was exchanged before I again drove off through the night. I raced home a little faster than I should have, running red lights as anticipation built in my chest. 

I got home, threw my hoodie on a chair, and collapsed onto the couch. I gingerly unwrapped the paper and admired my Cheesy Gordita Crunch before devouring it. I love you, Taco Bell. 

A being of pure, boundless energy, Demons are not all evil and darkness as we are taught. Rather, Demons present opportunities and force you to come to a truth on your own. When someone says they are "living with their Demons," they are acknowledging the conscious effort they are making every single day to follow one path over another, and the fact that their paths can change at any given moment.

give Me something to hold on to

Your memories

Your fears

Your likes and dislikes

and where You see this going

give Me something to hold on to

Your head on My chest

the scent of Your hair

Your legs crossed over Mine as we sit in contented silence

give Me something to hold on to

the curve of Your hips

the small of Your back

the possibility of giving You all I have in return

My pen name originates from a blog I decided to start a few weeks ago on a lark. Six years out of college, I was not missing academia per se, but missing the structure of having to write for my literature classes; I romanticize this memory, of course, when in truth I usually wrote my papers either the night before or day-of their due dates. Regardless, I booted up my laptop (which, in an iPhone age, I rarely do), and logged in to blogger.com. This was now the third blog I was attempting: my first, a travel blog devoted to the "day trip," ended after one poorly-penned post, while the second--a tribute to my late mother and a chronicle of saved text messages from the last year of her life--is indefinitely on standby. Alas, I decided the theme of my third blog should reflect these failed attempts at writing, along with my various other delusions of grandeur. Therefore, the name "Delusional Dude" became my adopted alias (as well as the link to my blog). Naturally, such a grounded and charismatic name was already taken on twitter, so I settled for @DelusionalDude1. Huzzah!