On nights when the insomnia declares itself monarch, I try to lull myself to sleep with different life scenarios. Sometimes, I imagine what would have happened if I had gone to New England for school (one room apartment, lonely life, dead, bloated face eaten by feline companions). Sometimes, I think about how to renovate the house on the cheap. And sometimes I compose fan fiction that will never, ever, ever be transcribed.
And then Hermione Granger set down her bottle of Diet Mt Dew – Gamer Edition next to Piccard’s bone china vessel of Earl Grey — hot, just the way he liked it — and said, “I never thought I’d meet anyone who’d study half as hard as I did.”
The Captain tugged at his uniform. “Well, in the academy, I mostly relied upon my wits and Cliff Notes, as I spent most of my time playing WoW, but I think it was that time spent in my guild, that I learned to be a true leader.”
The crafty witch swooned. Here was a much better man than that crusty old Han Solo, the cheating bastard who’d broken her heart. And sold her out.
(Ahem.)
Right now, I’ve been thinking about The Next House.
Not that we’re moving. Or even considering putting the house on the market. But every so often, when I realize that we’re living in a suburban crackerbox, I crave something more.
My current fixation for The Next House is a two story library, or at least, a library large enough to require a ladder on rails to reach some of the higher-shelved volumes and an all-season sun porch, where I could set up my crafting area and spend long afternoons at the sewing machine, while looking out across a broad, green expanse — maybe even see a body of water. I’m sort of obsessed with the idea that people who don’t live in the desert southwest are surrounded by green grass, large rivers, small ponds and lots of lakes, and brother, I want in on that action.
Of course, that would require moving away from Albuquerque, so maybe not so much, but it’s something I think about. Especially on nights like this one.