Things I Fantazised While Walking Home from Work

1. Owning a house and making someone else mow the lawn.
2. Whether performing the reproductive act while buried under avalanche snow will postpone hypothermia or bring it about immediately following the deed.
3. Classes I could take in the summer.
4. Sitting in a leather chair, clicking a pen, and seducing people to buy whatever it is I'm selling.
5. Starting a foundation that supports cab companies with 100 percent hybrid fleets.
6. Ballroom dancing.
7. Having a wiener dog.
8. Having a big sheep dog.
9. Being a dermatologist and removing patches of questionable skin on some one's neck.
10. Whether inducing heavy breathing, as if I were exercising rigorously, would prolong hypothermia if buried under an avalanche of snow or tire me out and cause me to die right quick.
    
11. The steps I need to go through before I can complete a painting I have stored in my Mom's basement.
12. Laughing at how funny it might be to get drunk in the house I own, ballroom dance around its living room, then trip over my sheep dog.
13. Planning the kind of duvet cover I would make myself if only I felt I wouldn't be moving around so much.
14. Wearing a white swimsuit.
15. Reading all of the books I've got so I can go to the store and buy some new ones.

It's Polite to Ask First

Although my plans are ever-changing, and I seldom feel responsiblity to account for my newest-fad train-of-throught, I would care to legitimize this one: Why I've decided to move home this summer.

Mom is really having a hard time. Last week was her spring break and most of the time, if I called home while she was alone, she was crying. So I decided to go home for the weekend.

On Saturday I wandered into Nana's room to borrow supplies from her sewing box. I walked in and said to myself: "Nana, can I borrow a needle and thread?" In my mind, I could hear her telling me it would be okay, and then she would give me detailed instructions about how to find the sewing box. 'It's in that closet, on the floor on the right. Look in there.' (She always gave specific instructions on where to find things. But for most stuff, it was pretty simple. On the closet floor, there was only the sewing box.)

When I went to return it, Mom found me and asked what I was doing. Then she said, "Did you ask to borrow Nana's sewing needle?"

Who's more nuts? Her for saying it, or me for preemptively doing it? "Yeah," I said. Then she lost it.

Sunday night, before we went to bed, Mom said, "Janet, thanks for coming home to spend time with me." Broke my heart.

Broke my heart.