I want. January 30, 2007

It’s like this: I want a beach, white sand, water that looks photoshopped. I want to get there without having to fly. I want myself, and only myself, and I want M’s feelings not to be hurt by that. I want a white bikini, and a tan so it wears well. I want to read full chapters, digest them in between naps in the sun. I want more than the few pages it takes to get from Columbus Circle to Penn Station. I want cold water, in a glass, crushed ice. I want a spiral bound notebook and fine point Sharpie. I don’t want the black to bleed onto the next page. I want inspiration, a burst of writing, followed by slow and steady editing. I want to walk down to the water without worrying about who is staring at my bum and what they think about it. I want natural highlights, both in my hair and on my cheekbones. No hair dye, no bronzer. I want an endless supply of magazines – US Weekly, People, Glamour, Cosmo – the stuff I roll my eyes at but delve into when someone else has purchased them. I want a few hours to spend at the gym. I don’t want to have to choose between cardio and strength training. I want strawberries – some fresh, some dipped in chocolate, all with a side of whipped cream. I want a cell phone that can still receive text messages, but absolutely no phone calls. I want a sleep undisturbed by honking horns, car alarms, rubbish trucks, early morning construction. I want to have a late-afternoon conversation over lemonade with another woman, a stranger who won’t judge. I want a 24-hour network featuring brand new episodes of all that is shiny and trashy: The Hills, Laguna Beach, Maui Fever, America’s Next Top Model. I want an early evening shower, reading while laying on clean sheets in my towel, my hair air-drying into natural waves. I want a car with an iPod hook-up, winding island roads and nowhere to be. I want fresh flowers on a table and cold water in a carafe. I want a 70 degree evening, a hoodie, a balcony, and silence. I want a wave-runner and no chance of getting hurt. I want perfectly polished fingernails (light pink, Essie’s Adore-a-ball) and toenails (red, fire engine red). I want an outdoor shower. I want an internet hook-up, but no desire to use it. I want Oreos with no calories. Also, cupcakes. I want flip-flops that don’t lose traction and a bathing suit cover-up that looks effortlessly chic. I want a headband and large sunglasses and the toe ring I wore when I was 14. I want all of my old journals – stacked in chronological order. I want all of my old short stories, and professors notes on those short stories, loaded onto the same laptop. I want my digital camera, so that when I come back and I’m myself again, I can upload the pictures and title the set “How Clink Got Her Groove Back.”

I want. January 30, 2007

It’s like this: I want a beach, white sand, water that looks photoshopped. I want to get there without having to fly. I want myself, and only myself, and I want M’s feelings not to be hurt by that. I want a white bikini, and a tan so it wears well. I want to read full chapters, digest them in between naps in the sun. I want more than the few pages it takes to get from Columbus Circle to Penn Station. I want cold water, in a glass, crushed ice. I want a spiral bound notebook and fine point Sharpie. I don’t want the black to bleed onto the next page. I want inspiration, a burst of writing, followed by slow and steady editing. I want to walk down to the water without worrying about who is staring at my bum and what they think about it. I want natural highlights, both in my hair and on my cheekbones. No hair dye, no bronzer. I want an endless supply of magazines – US Weekly, People, Glamour, Cosmo – the stuff I roll my eyes at but delve into when someone else has purchased them. I want a few hours to spend at the gym. I don’t want to have to choose between cardio and strength training. I want strawberries – some fresh, some dipped in chocolate, all with a side of whipped cream. I want a cell phone that can still receive text messages, but absolutely no phone calls. I want a sleep undisturbed by honking horns, car alarms, rubbish trucks, early morning construction. I want to have a late-afternoon conversation over lemonade with another woman, a stranger who won’t judge. I want a 24-hour network featuring brand new episodes of all that is shiny and trashy: The Hills, Laguna Beach, Maui Fever, America’s Next Top Model. I want an early evening shower, reading while laying on clean sheets in my towel, my hair air-drying into natural waves. I want a car with an iPod hook-up, winding island roads and nowhere to be. I want fresh flowers on a table and cold water in a carafe. I want a 70 degree evening, a hoodie, a balcony, and silence. I want a wave-runner and no chance of getting hurt. I want perfectly polished fingernails (light pink, Essie’s Adore-a-ball) and toenails (red, fire engine red). I want an outdoor shower. I want an internet hook-up, but no desire to use it. I want Oreos with no calories. Also, cupcakes. I want flip-flops that don’t lose traction and a bathing suit cover-up that looks effortlessly chic. I want a headband and large sunglasses and the toe ring I wore when I was 14. I want all of my old journals – stacked in chronological order. I want all of my old short stories, and professors notes on those short stories, loaded onto the same laptop. I want my digital camera, so that when I come back and I’m myself again, I can upload the pictures and title the set “How Clink Got Her Groove Back.”