Scatter I could

We are going on a mini-vacation this weekend — I seem to be getting us involved in time off with only the tiniest of reasons. I wish I could go back to graduate school. Not really, I hated graduate school. I just wish — and this does not mean I dislike what I do — that I could branch out. I feel restless. Work is repetitive. Work is repetitive.

I’m starting to plan and market some training seminars. That could help. I could write articles for my professional journals. That could help. I could grow a beard, join a religious order, go to clown school, have an affair,  learn a new language, write a book (bwaa-ha-ha), become a spy, learn about real estate or investment banking, or pressure a relative into funding my escape from reality. I could take up photography, figure drawing, body building, wedding cake decoration, arc welding, raising corgies, origami, landscape design, be a farmer, a psychic, a bread-maker, a milliner, a life coach, a consultant, a fly on someone’s wall, a generous anonymous donor, a superhero, a martyr, a flyfisher, a wine-maker.

I could start listening in on other people’s conversations, I could interrupt anyone who tries to talk to me, I could look up old friends on the internet and be amazed by how much they’ve aged, I could go visit my grandfather’s ashes, I could take a road trip. Oh wait. That’s what I’m going to do. Take a road trip. Well…

I could paint the dining room, repair the fences, build a new chicken coop, hire a yard man. I could grow wings and hover in the air above my house then fly to France like I used to when I was a little girl. Over and over again, dreaming of flying to France. I could dream of flying to France and then pop in over in Italy or Spain or Ireland, maybe Morocco or Mali or Maine. I could sleep better so dreams would come more easily, I could go to law school and save the world, I could be a carefree dreamer with a trust fund from a mysterious and pleasant source and hardly any neuroses about it at all.

I could.

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