In pursuit of absolutely and totally imaginary perfection: a love story

This is it. This is the week that everything changes, that I take the bull by the horns and reach for the stars and live my dreams and be every single thing that I can be. Last week, I was the old, imperfect Anne who waffled, sometimes, who was weak of will and feeble in purpose, who spent more time sleeping in late and lolling around in bed with a pillow on her head, avoiding life, things that smacked of effort, and responsibility. That was last week. This, here, this is the first week of the rest of my life of absolute perfect perfection.

This is the week I will arise with the birds, at dawn, and prepare myself an herbal tisane in a china cup. I will sip it slowly at the table by the window, meditating on the changing light over the mountains, breathing slowly in and out, really feeling the air enter my body, inflating my lungs, the roar of oxygen through my veins, filling up my head and rushing through my brain. I will carefully clean out my teacup and wipe it dry, then lay out my yoga mat and slowly, as my living room fills with light, I will perform my sun salutations, warming my muscles slowly and feeling the stretch zing along my tendons and elongate my muscles, strengthening my sense of smug and contented self-satisfaction.

Then, I shall change into my running clothes and hit the street, flying down the sidewalk with a bounce in my step, breathing through my nose and huffing out my mouth, awash in crisp fresh air. After completing a five-mile run in 25 minutes or less, I will arrive back at my apartment refreshed, alert, heart pumping and ready to take on the day as if it were a roaring tiger, and I a tiger-tamer with a fresh supply of tranquilizer darts and an entire trunk of brass balls. After an invigorating cold shower and salt scrubdown, and the application of a full-body moisturizing treatment, I will groom and dress myself carefully and well, because working at home is no excuse to not take pains with your appearance! I will prepare a glass pitcher of cucumber and sparkling mineral water to sip as I sit at my sparklingly clean desk. I will consult my carefully ordered to-do list, and proceed to item one.

I will spend approximately eight to fifteen minutes replying to all the emails that I have received overnight, thus emptying my inbox entirely. Then, I will fire up my word processing program, crack my knuckles and for the next four hours, pausing only for a sip of refreshing mineral water, I write words of aching beauty and poignant grace that strike hard and sure at the heart of meaningful human discourse, uncovering real and painful truths and in the process, healing hurts, righting wrongs and speaking for the unspeakable. Then, I will have a sandwich.

It will be on bread that I have baked myself, piled high with turkey I have roasted and sliced myself and daubed with mayonnaise I have emulsified myself. The tomatoes will be fresh and ripe, the greens crisp and leafy, and as I chew, I will think deep thoughts about metaphors, and update my to-do list.

Post-lunch, I will stretch, and go for a walk around the block to refresh my soul and really reconnect with nature and the regular people. I will return rejuvenated, and ready to tackle the next set of tasks on my list, which shall tumble in the face of my mighty will and great fortitude. Take that, proofreading, hi-yah, blog posts and hot-cha-cha-cha, tech writing! I have got you now! That will take approximately ten minutes. Then it is time to read the news, because it is very important to stay up-to-date on the important goings on in the world. After completing the New York Times crossword puzzle in pen, thus reinvigorating my mind, I will clear my desk off, prepare my to-do list for the next day, and flip my datebook over to a fresh page.

Then, I shall flip the radio on to a classical station, and tackle my personal projects: perhaps it will be baking a quiche Lorraine for the methadone clinic, that day, or sewing a quilt for an elderly shut-in, or knitting a cardigan for an orphan, or preparing bagged lunches for the homeless. I might paint a picture to be auctioned off for charity, or compose a musical score for the scathing documentary I am shooting about injustices in the legal system. It will all depend on my mood, really–this is my free time, and I can spend it however I like! I will become so absorbed that I almost miss dinnertime, silly me! Homemade, with dessert, delicious. An evening spent in candlelight, reading great literature in tandem on the couch, wittily debating politics, playing cribbage, and then quickly retiring to the bedroom, because you know how sexy cribbage can be. Eight hours of deep, refreshing sleep, then arising with the birds, and so on and so on.

It’s totally going to work.