alternate universe

When I woke up this morning, I saw the day clearly in my mind. I didn't rush- there was no schedule, no hurry. I took a shower, wore my khaki capris and a cute t-shirt, and did my hair the way I like it (with hair-tie on my wrist ready to pull it up at a moment's notice). I pack something resembling a lunch- all healthy, no guilt- put books and notebooks in my turtle bag with plenty of pens and mp3 player, and grab my guitar. Into the car I go, and the gas prices would miraculously not matter. Also, there would be no traffic between my house and Venice Beach.

I'd find a place to park on the street a few blocks from the water with no limit on parking. Then i'd walk to the beach to find my place among the hippies and homeless, the skaters and tourists. There's a stand called Jezebel with skirts I like, and I need a new one. I'd spread out a blanket on the sand and kick off my flip-flops. I wouldn't look at a clock and spend hours reading, writing, drawing, playing, singing, and maybe even napping. I could take pictures and maybe even meet someone fun and new... listen to the story of a homeless guy and ask the unshaven dude who wears a sign proclaiming, "Support Your Local Wino!" if he really likes to drink or just found a clever way to make money with smiles. I would snack on my packed lunch-like items (an apple, string cheese, granola bar, bottle of water... that kind of thing) and put my feet in the water that's not so warm because it's still not really summer. Eventually, I'd head to church, and again, in this perfect day, there would not be traffic. Though if i started early enough, the 10 wouldn't be too bad.....

But you probably know that I'm not typing this from Venice Beach. I may have talked to local winos on the phone today, though i'm pretty sure their craziness operates through sobriety. I did have Jamba Juice and a California roll with Leah, even if on a rushed lunch hour. There was no fresh, salty sea breeze, no sunshine to warm my face. And there was definitely no nap. I got to write (emails) and draw, and sing along to whatever song played in my car during the morning commute- i'll even get to sing during my evening commute to church... in between phone calls finding out what Grandpa's test results reveal about his trip to the ER today and if Sophia will make it to church (or if I will be teaching improvisationally).

The true optimist doesn't see a dream that dies, they say "I can dream again tomorrow!"

Eh. There are too many remarks to follow that sentence. You can just send it to Chicken Soup for the Soul and call it even.

When you want to blog about something sappy like love, what stops you? Feeling like a high schooler? Or the fact that all your friends will get to witness you feeling like a high schooler? Or maybe it's because it won't be all sunshine and light, and after all, hasn't the world had enough of your bittersweet melancholy?