sweet dreams are made of this

This entry as inspired by Monster Girl's most recent entry.

When I grow up I will live in a giant loft or studio in NYC or maybe in a quaint flat in London or I may stay in Australia and live in an upmarket apartment in Melbourne. The place will have ceiling to floor glass windows and a small balcony, just large enough to hold a table and two chairs. In the summer a single pot will sit upon the table were a lone sunflower will grow.

In the mornings I'll sit on the kitchen bench smoking a dirty cigarette and a steaming cup of coffee sits beside me. My lover will live with me and I will cook him breakfast, maybe a cheesy omelette or some french toast and we'll discuss our plans for the day and global news.

During the day I will catch up friends, we'll run down dingy alleyways and find sanctuary in hidden cafes and eateries to escape the rain and blistering cold or heat. We'll spend hours there just eating, drinking and talking. Eating delicious food like sweet potato salad made from mesculin leaves with cubes of sweet potato, feta and pieces of walnut and sun dried tomato with a little balsamic vinaigrette dressing over it. Or I'll go there by myself and drink copious amounts of cocoa when cold and iced tea when hot and I'll read the paper or journals or search the web for blogs, and I will write occasionally emptying my head of all its thoughts or just sit there and people watch.

I'll be paid to photograph and sometimes string words together. I'll get calls from big house fashion magazines to organise a shoot for an upcoming issue. I'll spend hours trawling through vintage stores, charity stores, department stores and big name fashion labels, finding uniquie pieces that catch my eye. I'll dress the models myself and play music during the shoots and let the models dance to the music to catch the rawness of the moment. I won't tell them to pose, pout and stare I will let them move their bodies how they want.

Then at night my friends will congregate at my place and we'll decide what we want to do, whether to sit at home and eat take out and watch our favourite movies, or go out and find a bar to sit at and relax, possibly even listen to some tunes. Or we might go eat out and drink a bottle of vino or two. I will go to bed to cuddle with my lover and he'll tell me he loves me and kiss me on the forehead and I will fall asleep deliriously happy counting down till I wake to live the next day.

But then I realised that that is all in my head, just some ridiculous dream of a perfect life that I want in a world where I dictate my fate and future. The chances of my life being like that are so slim, I have no talent in writing or photography and I am far from creative, I am just merely a dreamer. I've forced myself to be realistic and have decided that a future career as a political economist wouldn't be so bad, I do enjoy politics and economics; but then dreamer me gets in the way I dream that I will be a famous respected political economist where I will write text books, and the occasional piece for The Wall Street Journal or New York Times or The Economist and travel the world doing guest lectures. If only being a dreamer was a paying occupation. Because all these thoughts are just dreams, rather silly dreams at that.

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