To get paid for reading fiction.
To own a big house out in the country with lots and lots of land, lots and lots of animals, and no neighbors.
To have my own no-kill shelter like the Best Friends one in Utah.
I don’t know that I have dreams I don’t think will come true. I guess I’m too gosh-darned realistic. The only thing I can think of that’s probably not in the cards is reclaiming my first and only true love. Sure he’s gone, and I accept that, but gee it would be nice if he just showed up out of the blue and declared his undying love and devotion. Yeah, that’s likely. :rolleyes:
Well, okay, that, and world peace, an end to hunger and poverty, kind words and coronets, and white fluffy snow every christmas with electric trains for everybody. And some bright shiney black patent leather shoes with 4 1/2 inch heels and a polyvinyl outfit to match.
Ooooooooooh, yeah. But, if I think about it any more, I’ll have to changeMY to Spooge. For obvious reasons.
What are dreams for, if not for dream girls? I will not likely ever get together with Nina, but I don’t plan to stop trying!
Pete
Take off every .sig for great justice!!
Don’t think I really need TOO much in the way of material things to make me happy, but a nice TITLE to go along with my holdings would be spiffy… Something like “Supreme Emperor of the Intergalactic Hegemony” would do nicely, I believe… Then I can spend my time appointing all my friends to offices with equally flattering titles, and let the masses try to figure out what our jobs really are… Anyone interested in becoming “Chief Undersecretary of Aplomb” - I’m taking applications, but you simply MUST have perfect posture…
To be able to say any of the following for good reason:
“From the national newsroom of CBC Radio, this is the World at Six. I’m Matthew McLauchlin. In the news today…”
“The National Research Council official time signal. The beginning of the long dash following ten seconds of silence indicates exactly one p.m., eastern daylight time.”
“La STCUM vous souhaite la bienvenue à bord. Prochaine station, Monk.”
That the City of Montreal make Sainte Catherine Street and Saint Laurent Boulevard pedestrian-only.
That the STCUM extend the metro as much as they should (Dorval Airport! Pointe-aux-Trembles! The north shore!) before the oil crisis comes.
That I be able to paint a beautiful and moving painting or weave a gorgeous tapestry.
To have healed knees and feet.
To write that book and have it published.
To have lots and lots of sex and an earth-shatteringly intimate relationship with Joe Perry. And Vincent Spano. And David Duchovny. And Nuno Bettencourt.
To be completely rich.
To be completely toned and trim.
To have my kitties live as long as I do.
To own that house that is my favorite that was born exactly 100 years before I was born.
To live by the ocean.
To never, ever again be depressed or sad. Ever.
Dreams that won’t come true…chances are my novel will never be published…I’ve pretty much given up on finding true love…I don’t think I’m gonna win the lottery…and my dream of hitting 40 with a simple majority of my hair is kind of iffy.
I’m just feeling rather depressed…
To have a set a friends that won’t constantly dissappoint me.
Kitty
I don’t think I’ll get to stand on the surface of the Moon. But, you never know…
Becomming a slightly balded, heavily bearded, well girthed fantasy author with women flocking to him in droves.
That or becoming the ruler of the world.
Or maybe just Georgia.