- Run away. Road trip. Out West. Do the Zen-And-the-Art-of-Motorcycle-Maintenance thing.
- Go to sleep. For hours and hours. Wearing very, very soft pajamas. I’m talking very soft. And sleeping forever. Like, Sleeping Beauty style.
- Strong cappuccino at a very quiet and dim coffee shop, very strong cappuccino, and very quiet and dim. And cozy.
- Wander around in an endless meadow full of wildflowers (indulge my frivolous fancy, here).
- Wander around a quiet garden or meadow or woodland or hilltop or riverbank on a balmy summer night. Quiet and balmy, and fragrant, is key here.
- And speaking of fragrant, bury my face into a honeysuckle bush somewhere quiet on a balmy summer night. Close my eyes and breathe in deeply.
- Go to the supermarket and walk slowly down the coffee isle, breathing in deeply.
- It’s 30 degrees outside here, and it gets blustery in this neck of the woods. So, kick my parents out of their house, turn the heat up to 75 degrees, fill up their big huge Jacuzzi bath tub that they never use because they don’t want to scrub it down afterwards, and take a very hot bubble bath. Glass of champagne next to me. Lay back and close my eyes and listen to the wind whistle and whir and shake the windows and shutters and toss debris against the siding of the house. I just fucking love listening to the wind.
- Steal my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Run away with him, his cat and dog. Out West, of course—I have a thing for the desert, it’s just so peaceful and numinous in the desert—and live in a little adobe house where we grow a vegetable garden in the back and sit on our sun porch writing together all day, making a living by writing whatever the fuck we want to.