When it comes to human personality, I think I have to be one of the most unrealistic people trolling the planet.

It's not simply that half of my brain is perpetually unavailable for input or counsel (being altogether occupied with its own reverie and endless fabrications as it is). No, I think I could do well enough with half a brain (no doubt the people running this country are operating on far less than that) provided it had a clear, pragmatic perspective on the world. Instead, I'm working with a limited amount of brain matter that insists on exagerating everything out of proportion.

I'm not even sure where I am going with this particular throught stream.

I guess I was just trying to capture a moment of stillness where it's always so apparent to me that I am nothing but a dreamer.

As I write this to you, I'm sitting in Tara's sun-drenched living room. There are long panels of red linen that drop down from the crown molding to the wood floor where they crumple into two soft heaps. I'm wearing her thin, red cotton robe over my white t-shirt and black ballet leggings. On her white sofa are three square red pillows and a red wool throw. A glass vase in front of me holds five giant sunflowers. The only sound is the steady gurgle of her refrigerator which is in a particularly chatty mood this morning.

It's a peaceful moment. All the more quiet because I am not at home where my closet begs to be cleaned and have its summer wares packed away and its winter clothing brought out from hiding. However, more pressing than the closet is my office where a perfect storm is brewing.

The work I am doing for two art classes has invaded the sovereign nation of my desk. Normally, not an issue, but given that I have a three-week backlog of essays from 32 students competing for space with the books, essays and poems I am reading in a desperate attempt to be prepared for my next class (each class I teach is 3 hours long so to not be well-prepared is to die a slow, protracted death), the desk is a chaotic mess.

And yet, if you had three rather appealing mutts giving you their most winsome tail wags in the hopes you would take them outside, chances are you wouldn't get any of that work done either. And we won't even talk about laundry, housecleaning, etc.

Oh, IXNAY on the INDEXWAY!

Funny how when I visioned this whole "down to Boston once a week thing" my schedule was so active! so productive! There were 2-hour workouts at the gym, endless hours of writing, sitting at a cafe sketching, long, leisurely strolls through novel after novel.

Instead, the reality is, I sit here, half-awake despite my third cup of coffee, and wonder if I'm going to walk down to the bakery for a fresh baguette or have a bowl of cold cereal.

Illusion #6,482,173 dashed to the ground.

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