Banging head on the looking glass

When I was little I used to sit in front of mirrors and try to figure out a way to get inside. I was especially fascinated by the reflection of my bedroom on the window at night; for some reason that looked even more 3-dimensional and climb-into-able than the mirror at times.

Also, the pull chain on the light in my mother's closet had this little geometric plastic thingie hanging from it that seemed like it was very cozy inside (like I Dream of Jeannie's bottle) and would be good to travel around the world in to go on adventures, maybe travel through time and other dimensions. It was very pink. I also used to draw secret doors in the stone wall underneath the hill in my backyard.

The point of this being, ( why is writing so hard? )