Friday, December 12, 2014

TK 12: Perfecto

Grabbing another lifeline today. I just can't with mulligan.

Prompt: What's your perfect day look like? Make it full of fantasy, or just laid-back and ideal. Can you work toward making it your reality? Have you had a day that was almost perfect?

I remember reading a prompt like this somewhere months ago, although I can no longer remember where, and how I just talked it out one night. Like literally lay in bed as I was drifting to sleep and just talked my way through it. I can't remember everything I came up with that night, but here's a good chunk of it.


Wake up after a solid night of sleep. No bad dreams, no strange dreams that leave me exhausted from feeling like I actually participated all night, no multiple trips to the bathroom to answer the call of the hamster bladder.

Refreshing shower. The scrubby deliciousness of exfoliation. Lightly scented oil that makes me feel supple and delicious and maybe even a little mysterious. Outfit that is cute, comfortable, and artistically funky. Flip flops or sandals or whatever allows me to essentially be barefoot. Time for breakfast; something nourishing and healthy. Definitely fruit. Coffee. Plans for the day but no need to rush out the door to get there.

Crossover vehicle waiting for me at the curb. Nothing flashy but all the bells and whistles work. Good music. Turn it up loud as I put on shades and ease away from my home. Which is quiet and clean and perhaps being spruced up by a cleaning service while I'm gone.

Drive to my studio. White walls. Acrylic paint waiting for paper, canvas, any expanse of material. Anything to break free of a jar or tube. The cute outfit gets stashed behind a screen and I put on painter clothes. Scrubby jeans that are comfortable and unfit for public consumption. Old T-shirt. Paint-splattered apron. Hair tucked up and back. Barefoot. Headphones. More music. Humming. Hours to myself to create whatever I want.

Back in my street clothes, I head to a speaking engagement. Something where I address a small- to medium-sized crowd about something I'm an authority on. Maybe I'm speaking about race or weight or some degree of gayness. Nothing uncomfortable. My talk is well-received. I stick around afterwards to speak with audience members. Drift away smiling.

Early evening dinner with friends. Greek food, perhaps. Something heady that we enjoy with red wine. Laughter. A real feeling of belonging and comfort. No rush to get anywhere. The weather is nice enough to enjoy coffee on the terrace. A light breeze makes it chilly enough to shrug on a jeans jacket while we wait for the waiter to bring the dessert we'll enjoy with a scattering of spoons. Long goodbyes with even longer hugs.

Home. Soft light. A comfortable chair, a good book, a soft cat, and an afghan, or maybe a soak in a garden tub. Music. Dancing in the living room in soft jammies. Dancing for the spirits and guardians, fairies and ancestors who might be watching, happy to see me so happy.

Bed. Soft, encompassing, a handmade quilt that sparks nostalgia. A smile, heavy eyelids, and the deep, comforting breath that comes from a good day.

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