Sometimes when I’m tucked in bed and my eyes are closed, I imagine I’m in a bed somewhere else. Under the big white puffy comforter in Belgium. In my friend’s upstairs bedroom that feels safe and wonderful. Sleeping under the stars at the edge of the Sahara.
Sometimes I go to yoga in the middle of the day since my fitness center is in the building where I work.
Sometimes I visit the thrift store pretending I’m an artist and come home with all sorts of wonderful stuff to morph into something else. The wooden boxes, ephemera, paint, and this-n-thats are filling my basement.
Sometimes I think I’ll be a writer when I grow up.
Sometimes I stare at my tomato plants to see if they’ve grown.
Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing out here in blogland. Picture Carmen Miranda tripping over Dick Van Dyke’s footstool and that’s pretty much how I got here.