With a plethora of ideas racing through her mind, Lowellita is trying to decide if the path she has chosen in life has brought her to a dead end. Did she hit the brakes in time to make a U-turn? Or is she just rambling on endlessly in an exhaustive state?

When you are trying your all to shut your eyes, and in the process shut yourself off from reality via asleep, you notice things you never have before. There is nothing to concentrate on but the hum from the electric alarm clock overheating and the traffic passing outside — people with priorities.

One thing I observed above my bed is the delicate cracks in the white plaster ceiling. One area resembles a pencil sketch of a gentleman done by an abstract artist who is trying too hard to conform. He has a crooked hook-nose like the sparrow with a broken beak I once abetted in its escape, and eventual demise, after my cat attacked the bird in my garden.
I regretted that occasion.

Afterward my stomach twisted for week every time I saw a tiny feathered friend. I could not get that image out of my head, neither could I stop thinking about what had happened after it got lost in the confetti of maple leaves above.

That was the last time I interfered with fate.

The man above me has a jagged chin that comes to a severe point to complement his distinct nose. A deep concave abyss fills his eye sockets. His skin is withered with alabaster, like a wicker rocking chair that emptily rocks on a country farm porch.
I have laid beneath this profile on many nights, and days, making up tales about the man, wishing to fall asleep and dream of him.

But a dream is just a nightmare that you cannot recall the ending to. And I have had many. Both nightmares and dreams. Maybe too many of both.

And if the man in the ceiling could talk back, I wonder what he would have to say. He has seen what no one else has. He has witnessed the raw version of me. I guess raw can be pleasant once in a while. Oysters are best enjoyed in this state. Sometimes a hidden jewel is found buried deep inside them.

I am uncertain whether I have found the pearl of wisdom that will lead me on the path to find the creative spark that has been snuffed out recently. Thankfully before I became too distressed, I slipped into the state where every beat of my heart pumped another idea through my now exhausted brain — runny eggs, the bridge, Camel cigarettes, sparrows, street lights, oysters and the man on the ceiling.

Is her mind playing tricks on Lowellita? E-mail lowellita@lowellsun.com.