Do you ever just wish you were somebody else?
I mean, not a completely different person or anything (although I do have days like that). But just like…better. Or more interesting or smarter or skinnier or more witty or something?
I imagine myself all the time as this person who would have dinner parties.
No, seriously. That’s as high as I can hope for myself. Dinner parties.
I imagine having this big group of friends who would come over and visit me. I’d be in the kitchen cooking, possibly even julienning freaking carrots or something, while John Legend songs played on the stereo system. Jason could entertain my friends while I periodically shouted things from the kitchen such as,
“I like his views on foreign policy!”
“Thus, nuclear physics can be regarded as the descendant of chemistry and atomic physics and in turn the progenitor of particle physics!”
Okay, maybe not that actually. Maybe just something like:
“Glib actually means readily fluent! Often thoughtlessly!”
Note to self: Glib is a good way to describe you.
After dinner we’d all retire to the porch and watch the children play in the backyard and we’d laugh and say funny things about how they are growing up way to fast and how expensive college is getting to be and by the way, did I mention my book is coming out in hardcover next month? And I’ll sign it for you, for a small fee. And everyone would chuckle. Hehe.
Later, I’d load all the dishes into my dishwasher and view the event with a sense of satisfaction.
But? See, I can’t be that person.
Because being that person would require things like, gravy boats and full sets of matching dishes, and not living in a neighborhood so inhabited by crackheads that you fear your good friends cars will be molested while they are inside your home. Also, the ability to julienne carrots, which clearly, I do not have.
I wish I could write the script to my own life. That would rock. Jason would never say anything stupid, my kids would get straight A’s in school, and I would have freaking dinner parties. With carrots even.