Archive for ‘tiny dreams’

May 16, 2011

I wish…

…… that my boyfriend would want to see Bridesmaids with me.

…… that we would win at trivia again tomorrow so we could start a TRIVIA WINNING STREAK!

…… that Sarah Dessen books didn’t have to END. (Seriously. I always put them down with 20 or so pages left so I can deny that fact.)

…… that my roooooommate would come home.

I know it’s not Phoenix, but it’s not THAT cold!

…… that I could be in Michigan RightNow.

…… that the sun would come out once in awhile.

…… that lunch tasted good with coffee.

…… that my still-working-30-hours-a-week  pseudo-vacation would last


April 5, 2011

sunnier skies

I am having too much fun revisiting last summer.

It was a mess of class and interning and working and traveling,

but it was sunny,

and there was a significant amount of free time to be had,

a lot of weekend evenings observing Boston-area yuppies as they exposed their children to free classical music

and served elaborate picnic spreads.

Did I mention it was sunny?

It is gloomy gray and raining out today,

for the second day in a row,

and I would like to watch some yuppie parents slice cheeses on their little wooden cheese boards

in the park.


March 18, 2009

hypothetical architectural structures and me

I am dreaming of a balcony.

It doesn’t have to be grandiose – just big enough for a pair of chairs, some plants, and one of those baby charcoal grills.

In the mornings, I could take my breakfast and my book outside with me. A cup of coffee. Imaginary balcony is so magical, imaginary me actually enjoys drip coffee.

If I’m having a friend or two over, we can grill up hot dogs and hamburgers, or those little minute-steak+carrot+potato meals wrapped up in foil. Make potato salad and drink beer. After the guests leave, we could sit outside on our balcony, toasting marshmallows on forks until it gets too cold and dark and night.

When I need to cook, and the recipe calls for something like “Two handfuls of Fresh Parsley,” instead of dousing my dish with shake after shake of the dried stuff, I’ll just step outside.

I could grow some flowers too, in pots. Something colorful. I could learn how to be a nurturing Plant Mommy instead of the neglectful Plant Killer I am now.

It would be the ideal place to escape, like at a crowded party when you open a door and find yourself outside, gratefully conversing with those who smoke.

Or maybe an outdoor musician.

I could sing on my balcony.

My imaginary cat would also enjoy my imaginary balcony.