I will eat ice cream and Indian food all the time and drink wine and micro-brews and talk about art and music and books and David Lynch. I will watch spaghetti westerns and samurai movies and Down by Law over and over and weep at the perfection of Jarmusch.
I’ll be surrounded by my favorite people: Rebekah, Derek, Kevin, Andrew, Stephanie, Justin, Kendra, James and Erica, Fjola, Crystal, Shaughnessy; and my family: David, Shauna, Pam and Troy, Mimi, Keaton, Crysler, the Beyers, Leah, my parents, my grandparents.
Miraculously Dorothy Parker would be there and Flannery O’Connor and I will chase butterflies with Nabokov. Wayne Coyne would fall in love with me and write me song after song; of course he would have to fight for me with Seth Bullock and a very young Dennis Hopper. I would be pen pals with Amy Hempel and she would read my stories and love me for writing them and I would make Amy Poehler and Tina Fey and Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig giggle as much as they made me.
Lilacs would be in bloom all year round; every tree would be strung with white christmas lights.
Song birds, otters and horses; bunnies, kittens, puppies and baby foxes.
Everyday would be an occasion to celebrate. With the smell of the sun still on our limbs, we will all dance and laugh all night early into the morning; intoxicated with love for each other, for life, for all the beauty in the world.
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