\nI used to dream of sitting in the garden but a gardener never can. At least not one’s own garden because it constantly calls to you with thing to do. You look up and see something that needs picking, planting, pruning, weeding, or moved from here to there.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo then I dreamed of sitting in a nice little cafe. Drinking something. Eating something. Writing in a journal or reading a book. Watching people. But when do I have time to escape guiltlessly? And all those calories! And the coffee shop is never as comfy as home. It’s crowded with people talking too loudly or crying children. There is too much distraction to either read or write. I gulp down my coffee before it gets cold, become antsy and then off I go.\ufeff<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Imagined lives of imaginary selves. <\/p>\n