How About . . .

Today's writing prompt is, "What type of fish are you?" or something to that effect.

Really.

How the hell do you answer that? Maybe was poetic about my similarities to a majestic whale, king or queen of the oceans, slowly moving through my realm confident of my place in it? Or perhaps a playful dolphin - or do these count as fish? Many of us - maybe even me - are just one of countless little fishes following the leader in our homogeneous little school?

Poo, I say. Poo! I don't know enough about fish to compare myself to one, so how about a fish out of water? I often find myself floundering about, gasping for air, trying to figure what went wrong or simply what happened to put in whatever situation I find myself? How did I end up in this hallway? Why am I in boxer shorts? Why are they wet? Oh my god, I'm married?!

I consistently find that I've thrown myself into a situation where, just perhaps, I don't quite belong. Or I don't know how to belong. Or maybe should have read up on the whole thing first (Hi, grad school!) I am still working towards the day when I can stop holding my breath.