Daydreams of an Exhausted Worker Bee/Bride/Unstable Menstruating Woman

1. G and I live on a pond in Maine. It's always late June. As I knead bread dough (for an anadama loaf), I watch the waves gently lap the red canoe. G smokes a pipe. When I told him this daydream, he replied, "So, you want to retire? That's what it sounds like."

2. G and I live in a house in Mexico. Friends fly down to visit throughout the winter. We have not a care in the world, sipping margaritas on the moonlit Oaxaca beach. When summer comes, we return to Maine.

3. I overdose on sleeping pills. Tragically, my wedding is turned into my funeral. The flowers and people are there already. I'm buried in my bridal costume, flowers in my hair. Very Shakespearian.

4. I quit my job and find work at the local artisan bread company.

5. I quit my job, buy a glorious old brick building (with magical money that comes from the sky!), and open my wellness center. It is instantly successful, and easy to find trustworthy, hardworking people to run the day-to-day operation, leaving me to meditate and occasionally practice my famed healing powers. Like, doing actual work once a week. Mostly I sit there and breathe. Sometimes I get up and knead bread.

6. I'm a member of the Naragansett tribe before the colonists arrive. I pick blackberries near the Rhode Island coast. The waves again lap on the shore. It seems I find that soothing. In real life, I pretend the traffic outside the window is the ocean.

7. G is done with graduate school and fabulously wealthy. I mostly spend time sitting around, sometimes throwing in charity work. I only shop at Whole Foods, and the cost is not an issue. I'm the earthiest society woman in the world. I watch Dr. Phil, but I don't know why. Yes I do: because I can.