It’s been a long week. I’m tired. I’m exhausted, even. I mean, okay Universe; yesterday I acceded to the following requests: I played soccer for an hour (sweat and gnats and sore muscles and the humiliation of being less of a kicker than an eleven year old) and saw “Pain & Gain” starring Mark Wahlberg & Dwayne Johnson (rampant homophobia, horrific acting, repugnant characters and nauseatingly gimmicky direction). SURELY I deserve some sort of recompense today? I want a prize. I know that I shouldn’t expect things (and would be much happier if I just accepted things) but . . . I really want a prize.
I would like the latest literary agent to whom I submitted to respond. I can take “no” – I just need to hear it.
That’s a realistic (sort of) want. Now, on the other hand: I would like a Pulitzer.
And on even another hand, I would like a reasonable facsimile of Dylan O’Brien. Or, you know, just, for even a few minutes, have someone who wanted to hold me, really, really wanted to hold me. I would like to be wanted – for the holding – instead of the things for which I am usually wanted, all of which are put aside and forgotten when there is someone who is holdable. Which, mostly, I guess I’m not. So, Dylan. Or, even, a bad, sort of torn, bargain brand, knock-off, bad imitation of a second-rate copy. Is that too much to ask?
And in the even more unreasonable fantasy department: I would like the sad stories of the past to be gone. Enough. I can’t fix them. I can’t change them. So, make them stop. Make me forget. Make me forgiven. Hand me a new toy, give me a new gift, take away this . . . eh, whatever. I’m fine.