In this lifetime,

I shall post a roundup of one humble woman's hopes and dreams.

In this lifetime, I shall be as blissful as a dog in a zooming car as he pants enthusiastically from the passenger window.

In this lifetime, I shall be in a beautifully lit room with a barre, donning a leotard and leg warmers. A fierce man in tight black clothing will bang on an upright piano and repeat, "five, six, seven, EIGHT," again and again. There will be copious perspiration amid alternating expressions of determination, despair and exhaustion. And in the end, triumph.

In this lifetime, I shall make creamy bacon ranch chicken in a slow cooker.

In this lifetime, I shall share a bed with a man who dons an eye patch.

In this lifetime, I shall stand before another bewildered human being and say (with welling emotion), "The only things I ever cared about in THIS WHOLE WORLD .... are these boots .... (heaving breaths) ... that guitar (more breaths) ... and (breaths) ... and (breaths) ... AND YOU!" And then I shall storm out an adjacent door into a driving rain.

In this lifetime, my circumstances shall mandate that I maintain a “go bag.”

In this life time, I shall clean my toilet bowls with Coca-Cola, thereby achieving an unparalleled sparkle and shine.

In this lifetime, I shall be the feature of a video montage in which I tackle a series of related challenges in perfecting a manufacturing/artistic process of some sort. There will be no dialogue, but instead a score, perhaps Vince Guaraldi Trio's Cast Your Fate to the Wind. Said montage will include glimpses of whimsical failures wherein I angrily deposit entire efforts into a trash can, hopeful moments that turn on a dime, and interactions during which an affable man in a lab coat or work jumper explains and gestures as I nod in revelation. It will end with me smiling in satisfaction, hands on hips as the piano notes fade and the riveted audience waits for the big reveal in the next scene.

In this lifetime, I shall saunter into a tavern, settle myself at the bar, and say to the barkeep, "A tankard of ale and a platter of marrow bones."

In this lifetime, I shall be featured in an investigative documentary. A narrator will announce me as "Erin O'Brien, community member" and I will appear on the screen seated at a desk strewn with papers. After purposefully removing my glasses, I shall lean back in my chair, emit a great sigh and then pause for a beat before turning to the camera and saying, "We started by talking to the people," with heartbreaking sincerity.

In this lifetime, I shall be part of a 10-person pyramid as we gleefully glide over a sparkling blue lake atop a line of water-skis.

In this lifetime, I shall be reclined on a day bed in an austere office as a man with a monocle wearing a three-piece plaid suit slowly waves a pocket watch before my eyes and says, "You're getting sleepy. You're getting very sleepy," and I shall wade into that darkness unafraid.

In this lifetime, I shall ride in a side car while wearing a viking helmet.

In this lifetime, I shall own only Good Underwear. At such time, I shall banish every pair of knickers that came from a big box store in a plastic bag containing three (or — heaven help us — six) pairs of ill-fitting undies. Most importantly, I shall only select the forthcoming Good Underwear from the Foundations Department of a Nice Store, wherein each pair of said underwear shall be displayed on its own hanger.

In this lifetime, I shall stand smiling widely in front of a TV camera as I hold up a giant bank check made out to OUR WINNER for $10,000.

In this lifetime, I shall drive a car that is at once discreet and dangerous looking, accelerating at an impossible speed in pursuit of an equally unnerving vehicle. When I get close enough such that my front passenger side tire is next to the rear driver side tire of the other vehicle, I shall push a button. In response, a steel spear spinning with the same rotations per minute as the vehicle’s axle shall emerge from the associated hubcap like an evil erection and pierce the other tire, causing that car to spin out helplessly onto the berm. After just one glance in the rear view mirror for verification, I shall drive on, grinning.

In this lifetime, I shall make a dried beef & cheese spread that I will shape and decorate to look like a football.

In this lifetime, I shall star in a feature-length film, the ending scene of which will begin with the camera panning in on a desolate cityscape and eventually training on an intersection bordered by skyscrapers. My character — a woman in tattered clothing and a face dotted in soot — shall pivot from between the buildings and walk with steely determination down the center of the street. Soon another figure will emerge. Then another and another, each with the same unwavering resolve. Their number will steadily grow as the music crescendos and the camera’s POV moves overhead, revealing a vast army — triumphant despite a battle that has yet to be fought.

In this lifetime, I shall eat an entire gingerbread house.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this departure from my normal format. See you next Friday!

Love, Erin