if i were a hoper

If I were a writer, this is the life I’d live. I’d stay up late doing nothing, or rearranging the rooms in my house. Then I’d sleep in past breakfast hours yet still hunger for an egg something when I awoke. Then I’d meander down to this posh coffee house/ restaurant/ Internet café and sit in this booth seat and watch the people and the cars in downtown Richmond and write. But, I am not a writer. I am a wanna be. But I have the summer off and this leaves me with indulgences such as coming to this café and writing posts that hardly anyone reads. Except you. There is always you. Thank the dear lord for you.

I’m sure though, at some point the amount of café au lait money would quite quickly surpass the freelance or book deal money I was making so that my days as a writer would send me to living in a van down by the river. And that is no life at all and so I will do as a do and spend my afternoons and summers dreaming of the perfect writing life, free of the day to day schedules, giving me freedom to up and go to the beach or New York or oh dear lord London whenever I chose because as a writer, your laptop is your desk, or you classroom as the case may be.

Not about writing, but just generally, someone once called me naïve and I felt then and still do that that was a compliment. For from naiveté comes hope and with hope a great many things can be accomplished.

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  • ~ © Anna ~ it ain't Shakespeare, but it ain't yours either ~