Dreaming

Do you remember when you were little and went to the doctor’s office how the doctor would ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up? I don’t know why doctors ask that question. I guess it’s normal and healthy to have an idea when you’re three of what you want your life to be. I had no idea. I still have no idea. I think my life is going to be what it has to be regardless of what it wants to be.

A couple days ago I caved and ordered  a monstrously huge picture from Shutterfly. (Shutterfly advertisement insert here: I love Shutterfly. Sign up and enjoy it for yourself.) Yesterday the 16 x 20 Eiffel Tower picture arrived rolled up in a skinny orange tube. I unrolled the picture and proudly showed it to my apartment mates and then wisely (and quite symbolically) rerolled it and stuck it back into its skinny orange tube and then hid it inside my dresser. My July Fourth holiday will supposedly be spent in locating an antique mirror for this Tower, but deep down I know that this picture is just another one of my many dreams that will remain tacked on my wall.

And so I do the only thing I can do: let my dreams float away while I ground myself in reality and drink coffee. Earthy, pungent coffee that somehow warms me up and makes me feel fuzzy on the inside. And then, somehow, life is bearable again. Not only bearable, but exciting. And maybe someday I’ll find a dream that is firmly rooted in the ground but allows me to stretch above the clouds.

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