i’ve always wanted a treehouse…okay, let me clarify that: i’ve always wanted to be one of those people who wanted a treehouse (of course, i also wanted a trampoline and an inground pool, but neither of those items ever showed up under the christmas tree!). i think if i had had a treehouse –a safe zone where i could be “me” (whatever that means), that i’d be a success today instead of the fabulous failure i am. my whole life could have been different! šŸ˜‰

my treehouse would sit high enough off the ground so unwanted guests couldn’t get in–because i’m not a math person, i can’t measure distance, so use your own idea of how high that might be!! moss-covered and camouflaged by a massive number of leaves, my treehouse would be my oasis from the mean old world. i could climb up the rope ladder and, once inside, lock the door (or is that the floor?) and find serenity….looking around, i’d see my window seat where i pen my great american novels; the rocking chair and floor lamp (yes, my treehouse makes it’s own electricity–a girl has to hide out in comfort!!) where i rock away hours reading EVERYTHING; i’d probably need some sort of bed, futon, or—HAMMOCK!!! yeah, i like that….the hammock would be beside the opposite window, so when i sleep, i’d be rocked gently by the wind outside.Ā  it would also have space for a small kitchenette–i’m thinking something simple like a mini-fridge, microwave, and mini-stove (ummm…it’s my treehouse, so don’t judge me!). carpet might be a little much–so, i’d probably fill the wood floors with thick mauve and violet rugs. oh, and pillows, big and fluffy, on the floor, too–a girl never knows when she has to entertain or need to change perspective when writing! i also need some sort of sound system…i’m not sure i need a tv, but definitely an ipod dock so i could have tunes. and outside the tree, wildflowers growing all along the path leading to the tree. i’d hear the bees buzzing, but they’d leave me alone since i’ve given them a bounty of flowers to nibble on. last, i’d have to have a tin roof for the rainy season. i remember my grandmother’s attic in the rain; the drops were tiny pings of musical notes that were so relaxing.

so now that i’ve built my dream-treehouse, what do i do there? how would it have made my life better? i can just feel the house sway a little in the breeze, smell the wood and leaves and dirt of the forest, and hear all the animals try to scare me out of the tree (especially those noisy bullfrogs who are TOOOOO obnoxiously loud during mating season! i mean, seriously, have ya heard those things???). all this time on my handsĀ  must lead to tranquility and self-determination. i would have a goal forĀ  my life–take charge of it instead of just waiting for life to happen.

i probably would have written aboutĀ  my first kiss, about fights i had with my family, love lost and found…i’d have a trunk full of my writing, and another trunk filled with the money i made on freelancing for nature-lovers magazines (even though i’m definitely not a nature lover!)

if i’d had a treehouse, i probably would not have been such a scaredy cat; i could have faced my fears and dreamed big! i could have not been so worried about being hurt or if someoneĀ  i knew was getting hurt or if i might fail.

i wonder if treehouses help middle-aged people, too?

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