Last
night I dreamt of a turkey sandwich. Not even a sandwich really, but a turkey
loaf sitting on a piece of tin foil with a knife held midair waiting to be cut. Did
I just personify a turkey loaf? Is this my version of “Hell’s Kitchen” meets “Games
of Thrones”? Then a loud noise occurred, waking me up at 8:40. I think it was a
garbage truck or a direwolf on steroids. It was then that I realized, I need to
upgrade my subconscious, or get out of bed and eat lean meats.
I
put on my usual winter stay-at-home outfit; leggings, wool sweater, and white,
or let’s say grayish-white, socks. Let’s pretend that my hair flopped every which way on top of my head and tangled into a knot in back is sexy and not brush it.
I did brush my teeth while looking in the mirror thinking, Yes, Emma Stone will
look exactly like this in the morning… 30 years from now.
If
I were going out into the 0 degree, -30 below windchill, I would’ve put on at
least one more pair of pants and two more sweaters, my fashion statement being,
“I AM WARM!” and don’t care if I look ten pounds heavier by wearing ten extra
pounds of clothing on my body in the winter in an effort to not freeze to
death. As a courtesy I would also brush my hair then put a hat on so that when
I take said hat off, my hair looks exactly like it did before I brushed it…with
static. Better to stay in, with coffee.
I’ve
been thinking a lot about Florida lately; ocean beaches, white sand, pale blue
horizon that stretches out forever. That kind of thing. My first day of teaching
classes this semester, I reached into my backpack pocket for a pen and pulled
out a seashell instead. It was quite a lovely surprise though I’m sure I put it
there myself. It may have been there for as long as four years, as the last
time I was on a beach was in Jekyll Island, Georgia on a chilly January
morning. Greg was out taking pictures. Or maybe it was the beach in St.
Augustine, a distant memory that I choose to rekindle, every time I reach for a
pen.
This
is part of my “make a plan” to not be in Buffalo next winter and I know
everyone in the Northeast is trying to come up with the same plan. Fondling a
seashell seems like a good start. I’ve also watched all four seasons of “Game
of Thrones” in an effort to plot my escape from guarding the wall next year. My
life is exactly like “Game of Thrones” without the stabbings, beheadings, or lust
for power. It’s just like me in my kitchen trying to open a can of soup last
night, only the soup is a, a … dead animal and the stove is a, a…what? Okay, I
guess it’s not really that much like my life. I don’t even have a brother to
commit incest with or wise dwarf to tell me what to do. Ah well, back to the
harsh reality of indoor heating and plumbing, a car instead of a horse, a T.V.
that tells you over and over how damn cold it is outside and offers programming
that distracts and dismembers and asks you to be a member if you watch PBS. Do
I sound exactly like Daenrys Targaryen? I thought so.
CHOOSE
YOUR FREEDOM!
I
also have a paycheck that allows me to save up and actually do something next
winter. That’s where the Internet comes in. So many hours to look on Craigslist
and VRBO at the endless possibilities of where I’ll wind up. I’m thinking something sleepy, maybe an
Island. They have such lovely names; Anastasia, Amelia, Gasparilla, Santa Rosa,
turkey sandwich. I must be dreaming again.
And
where will you all be going? Listen to the seashell. It will tell you where to go.
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