Day eighty-six wish

Straight arrow to Normal

Sometimes I wish.

That I was more "normal".

I dream of what used to be the "middle class".

I long to watch TV again without a cynical running commentary, without my obtuse disgust for blatant dishonest commerciality.

I wish I could sleep in a warm, comfortable, safe and relaxing bed in some cozy, well-kept manufactured home that looks like all the others in my cul-de-sac.

I wish I had a nondescript but well-running and reliable car that would start and stop at my digression, maintained and insured, stored in an orderly garage amid my lawn mowing tools and golf clubs.

I wish I had a 9-5 job, toiling in a small downtown office, managing some middle process of whatever commerce paid enough to cover my debt and provide two weeks a year at the beach.

I wish I had a smart, sexy, athletic, funny wife from an affluent family, committed to obeying my every command.

I am still not sure I wish for 2.5 kids.

I wish I had a hobby like stamp collecting or ornithology.

I wish I liked wool sweaters, gray slacks, Prince Albert and Old Spice.

I wish a single martini, stirred OR shaken was my drug of choice.

I wish I had no stress, no issues, no complexities, perfect health, white teeth, and met with a supportive and docile group every Sunday morning to affirm our sameness of belief.

I wish I was like Truman.

I wish I would stop wishing and accept the reality that I never was, currently am not and never will be, anything remotely close to "normal".

That's my wish.