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I have decided to stop feeling like I’m behind on everything. I’m not behind on the internet; now I’ve got lots of wonderful things to catch up on. I’m not behind on reading (now that I’ve finished my book club book); I’m reading at my own leisurely pace. I’m not behind at work; I’ve just suddenly got two jobs to do, and I’m keeping up as best I can. I’m not behind on blogging, either. It’s not like I can go back and post something for all those days my mind was elsewhere. I’m where I’m supposed to be, and that’s okay.
John and I live in the middle of suburbia. The epitome of suburbia. It really really can’t get more suburban than where we live. Lots of houses that all look the same, lots of people driving the same kinds of cars along all the same streets to take the same long commute to get to work and back. When I go for a run in the morning, I’m running by the early-risers and long lines of cars. There’s one stretch behind the high school where I run in the scraggly grass with the road on my right and the baseball field on my left, and usually I focus on the gradual uphill climb and uneven ground. The other day I noticed little purple flowers lining the worn path in the grass, lots of little purple flowers, and for just a few seconds, I could ignore the cars zooming by 8 feet to my right and pretend I was running in a mountain meadow full of wildflowers. It was a nice daydream, even if it didn’t last long.
A couple of days later, I spent a few minutes talking to a trail runner about where he runs and how to get there. I may end up hating running on uneven ground (or where there may be snakes and other unpleasant things), but it’s something I’d like to try. I think.
In a perfect world – and by a perfect world, I mean my perfect world, of course – I would be an inch or two taller (5’6″ is so boring), 25 to 30 pounds lighter, I would live in one of the places showcased by Desire to Inspire, and my wardrobe would be chosen by someone with great taste and plenty of money (’cause they’d be buying it for me – it’d be okay, since this is my perfect world, if that money were my own). That would be the best part. Someone else to do my clothes shopping, someone to put my outfits together. Comfortable, good-looking, classic, good quality. The clothes, too. Tom and Lorenzo could live next door so they could send me right back inside when my personal shopper/wardrobe consultant failed and/or my lack of fashion sense reared its ugly head. And I’d have a personal chef, preferably one who is capable of making deliciously wonderful meals that look like they have too many calories (lots of cheese, cream sauces, chocolate, etc) but really hardly have any. A magic chef.
I wouldn’t need to be a princess if I had all of that. I may have just admitted that I still wish I could be a princess. (I still wear pink and purple, too. Quite often. Not usually at the same time. At least I recognize my need for wardrobe help.) The Princess Diaries speaks to me, partly because, really, how cool would it be if you woke up one morning and found out you’re a princess? And partly because DUDE. Julie Andrews is your grandmother. We would sing ALL the time.
I can think of plenty of other things that would make my world perfect, both shallow and not, but the real world is beckoning and I kinda have to pay attention to it. Damn reality.
About My Blog
My blog is exactly what it looks like. I make no promises to say anything profound. I read, I write, and I try to figure out what I really need to be happy. Isn't that what you do?