My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Okay, so I know what eggs are, but what the heck is nog?" "I certainly hope you know what eggs are!" "No, but seriously, what is nog? Why 'nog?' It doesn't make sense." "You're really obsessing over this, aren't you?" "It's racking my brain, man! I don't get it!" "..." "..." "...Did you try Wikipedia?" "...Dude." "Yeah." "Dude. " "Yeah?" " Dude." " Yeah?" "...You're a genius." "I know." "...Hmmm. Okay." "What?" "Weird." "What's weird?" "I mean, the page says the word may have come from the word noggin..." "Noggin? Like your head?" "Nah, man, it's Middle English. Noggins were these little carved mugs that they served alcohol in." ...

Can't we just go back to the way things were, and everything returns to normal? No. We can't. Because we weren't normal in the first place. We had dreams that didn't fit right in boxes, hopes that had to be tied down by strings and ropes or else they would drift away. We sang songs where the words trailed off into non-sequiturs, and the prayers we made weren't to any gods, but to ourselves. We can't go back to the way things were because if we tried, it'd be forced and hackneyed. This is who we are now. We are normal.