lyris

Sometimes I pretend to book imaginary trips. I go to websites for hotels (well, usually just the one) and pick dates a couple of years from now to see if they're already booked. They usually are. When they're not, I go as far as I can without giving them my name or my credit card number and simply imagine putting all that money into a ridiculously long (given the price per night) trip to New York, and all of the other money we (of course there is a we in my imagination) would end up spending on broadway (and off-broadway) shows, museums and fancy dinners. I think about what room we would stay in. Ancient Religions? Fairy Tales? Erotica?

In this dream world, my days are 30 hours long (or I have managed to become incredibly efficient). I roll out of bed well rested at 7am and go to the gym for an hour or two. I come back to shower and dress myself for the day and s/he is reading. When I walk in, s/he gives me a particular passage from the book. S/He has been saving it to show me. After we are clean, we walk out to the street. We grab deli lunches and sit in the park, wander through the MET and then it is dinner time. A change of clothes and attitude and a slow meal later, we're at a show.



I have too much time right now.
I'm making sock monsters. They are wonderful, but they take a day each. I guess, what else am I going to do, really, if work isn't working, no one has time, and I get on a plane in a few days?