Welcome to a Stream of Consciousness. Please keep your seats in an upright and locked position and please do not stand until the ride is the speed of the ground.

Church staircases that wrap around and come to a point on the corners always made me nervous. Champagne reminded me of celebrations, which is why I enjoyed drinking it the most, even at 8 am. I can’t believe more people haven’t said it, but Luke Wilson is the talented brother; why isn’t that more publicly acknowledged? Sometimes I miss escaping; not that I want to, but sometimes I miss the option of being able to. I’m starting a very small company; it started about a week ago when I was making Christmas gifts and my boss at MBRN.com offered to pay me for more of the product and I thought “What if I started selling this to little boutiques in the area?”. Greg’s excited for me and I love him so so very much for that. (I’ll be sure to keep you guys posted.) The thing is, I worry about myself when I’m like this because I have a million and one ideas coming out of me and I’m terrified that I won’t get any of them done. I already have a million projects started and pushed away into my closets. I want a Victoria’s Secret boucle sweater for Christmas, but I forgot to ask for one, so now I’ll have to buy it myself. Isn’t it funny how we hang on to ideals from our adolescence; I still want to be just like Claire Danes and I’m still in love with Jared Leto even though he’s pretty tool-y these days. My wardrobe looks like it belongs to twenty different people and I kinda like that I get to be someone else every day. Sometimes, when Chloe’s napping, I slather my face in makeup and take pictures of myself in different personas that I never show to anyone. I just found a CD full of pictures I took from a scene I was in in 2005 and I find myself getting pissed for wasting my early-twenties being overweight and awkward, still. Dammit; would it have killed me to be gorgeous in my youth for even five minutes?! I loved acting so very much, but I hate that when I got back and watch my performances I can scribble a thousand notes to improve my performance and I’m convinced that I never did a role justice, even though I was handed a couple exquisite roles. I love jukeboxes. Old ones. Not to be superficial, but I think all the Victoria’s Secret models are gradually getting less gorgeous. I want more Marisa Miller! I want More Adriana Lima! No more of that Blake-Lively-drunkfaced woman! No more average-blaverage women! Goddesses! Idols! Bring them on! I miss hearing my Gran say “Hold the phone.” when she means “Wait a second.” My nails are all naturally longer than they’ve ever been in my whole life because of all the compulsions I’ve been having on this new medication, I haven’t been biting my nails. For the first time in my life. Weird.
Sometimes, I Google images of things that I physically really really want someday… material possessions I imagine will make me happy. Like big old houses in New England and clear kayaks I can take around the coast of Greece and beautiful backyards overlooking the Mediterranean. I never ever dream about clothes or cars or jewels or shoes or purses or stupid electronic devices that will be worthless and unwanted in two years… I always fantasize about big, sprawling houses in exotic, beautiful locales. And libraries full of books and DVD’s. And garages big enough to house all of Greg’s dreams. And a massive backyard where my children and grandchildren can camp and run and play and build forts and laugh.
When I dream of little possessions, I dream of old antique typewriters to write love letters to my family on. I dream of Ocean Kayaks to take Greg and Chloe out to sea on. I dream of expensive underwear to show off only to my spouse. I dream of boucle sweaters to curl up with a book in. I dream of a fantastic camera that I can take pictures of my daughter with. I dream of an electric guitar so I can play “Johnny Be Good” with my husband. I dream of a home with a fireplace. I know no possession or product of money will make me internally happy, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend.

Last night I had a nightmare that Greg and I wanted a weekend getaway and so we rented the cheapest room in a hotel at the beach. We were put in a room between the pool and the gift shop and there were windows on all of our walls. Then, I went to dinner with my dad and my siblings at the hotel and this waitress kept trying to seat herself at the table and finally I screamed “HE’S MARRIED, YOU MORON! LEAVE US ALONE!” at her and she went outside and cried. And then this whooshing, powerful snowstorm came in from the ocean and started cracking the windows and ceiling around us. And I ran without thinking of anyone else.