Work is fine. Don’t get me wrong. It’s fine, though busy, and illishly paid. But I don’t need much, so it’s all okay. Get up. Get in the car. Get on the bus…wait, did I put on pants yet? Yes? Because now that I no longer take the ghetto bus, pants are pretty much an every day sort of thing. Okay, get on the bus, get off at the bus, grab breakfast, go to my office, sit at my desk, etc. etc.
And I have to say that the specter of unemployment has still not worn off, and so I continue to be inordinately glad to have this job. But since I’ve stopped obsessively checking the job boards, and have settled into a salary and sick leave and office parties, I’ve begun to dream that wonderful dream of If I Didn’t Have To Work.
I’m really embellishing it, too, and I’ve spent considerable time worrying about how I would be a contributing member of society and not just a consumer of expensive gourmet vegetables, intricate crafty stuff, and delicate moisturizers. I mean, once you have the Craftsman house in Ravenna (on a side street but near the cafes), and you’re taking lots of fun classes (bellydance, of course, but also knitting and maybe stained-glass or mosaic, and possibly Italian) and you’ve got your travel for the year lined up (Morocco, Santa Fe, New Zealand. Vegas? Nepal?). Once you’ve found an accountant and an investment banker or whatever you need when you don’t have to work. What do you do? Volunteer? Put all your friends up in your guest room while they reel from various tax-cutting legislation that benefits only me, as a rich person? Dedicate yourself to the board of some worthy charity?
But I don’t let things like that bother me too much as I construct the firmament of my fantasy. I concentrate, rather, on the important questions, like should I have a craft room and an office, or combine the two? What will my dinner party schedule be like? Should I go around the world? What about pets? What about kids? Well, no, that would be working, wouldn’t it. Scratch the kids. I can diversify my workout schedule though, so that needs some attention. I think I’ll swim twice, bellydance at least once a week, and then continue on with personal training and cardio class. And don’t let’s forget the bi-weekly massages. What the hell, I’m rich, right? Every week with the massage!
I decide what magazines I should subscribe to, what colors to paint the rooms, what types of waffles to make every morning. I consider starting a garden. I think of the restaurants at which I hope to become a regular. I plan to read every book I’ve held off on lately for financial or time reasons, and I vow to see every good movie that comes out in the theaters.. I dream about writing an entry every day…although, honestly, how interesting would those entries be? “Dear Ampersand, today I got lots of sleep and took a shower in a house with actual water pressure. I dried off with towels that matched. Then I did whatever I wanted all day, and spent some money. Ate some good food and did the dishes, for real. Am now going to read for four or five hours. Massage day tomorrow. Love, Chiara.”
So I guess I’ll just have to keep writing entries about how I am sore from lifting weights or about how the cats are, or about the food I ate over the weekend. If I ever do become independently wealthy and can put my dreams of genteel trust-funded lazitude into action, then you all will totally miss the chronicling of my bus-taking, office-chair days. I know you will.