I wish to learn another language, and speak it confidently in its homeland.
Host a dinner party, at which the conversation is broad and free ranging, microscopic and focused, loud, and soft as cicadas buzzing.
Learn how to concoct tasty cocktails (I’ll serve them at that dinner party).
Read a novel in another language (see previous wish to learn a language), and a novel of seismic proportions that makes me fall in love with some strange new world.
Get my licence, so that I can run away for days, sleep on top of the car under the blackest skies with creatures crawling around my ankles.
Paint a house, in spattered overalls with a scarf on my head and a whistle on my lips.
Embark on a road trip and stay away for a many many days.
Buy an absurdly expensive dress that makes me feel like Ms Hepburn or some other wonder, even if the feeling is deluded.
Learn to sew (so that when I cannot afford that wonderful dress I shall be comforted).
All of this and many many other things besides.
This hopeless hopefulness is just the beginning-of-year mirage talking, but it’s nice, so I’ll leave it to glitter for just a little while.
Who knows, maybe mirages can be solider than I think.
