Monday, April 20, 2009
Work, work, work. All I ever do is work. Morning, noon, and night, I always work. When I wake up in the morning I start to work. All I ever see and know is work. I'm so tired of working; I want to live. I want to see the beautiful and wonderful things, to travel the world. I want to ride an elephant in India and a camel in Egypt. I want to stand beneath the Eiffel Tower in Paris and feel small, and climb the Empire State Building to stand above the world. I want to be serenaded on a gondola ride in Venice and hear sweet nothings whispered into my ear across a candle-lit dinner in Ibiza. I want to walk on the Chinese Wall and hear the mysteries of how the pyramids were built. I want to have a Latin lover, who will love me and then leave me. I want to cry for days about what could have been and think back on the wonderful, but brief, affair we had.
I have never been in love. I want to fall madly in love. I want to wake up in the morning and sing songs. I want to bake brownies out of the blue. I want to think about him day and night, and write his name over and over on a piece of paper, with hearts all around.
I want to eat an exquisite meal. I love to eat. I want to savor every bite of a beautifully-prepared dish, melting in my mouth. I want to be surrounded by chocolate-covered strawberries.
I want to make love in the moonlight on the beach, as sand gets mixed into my hair. I want to get lost in the moment, and forget my name. I want him to remind me!
But all I ever do is work. What the hell am I working for?