oh, what a shame, a subway ride was never meant to last.

call it an overly-romantic notion that has never died out, but whenever i have reason pass manhattan apartment buildings at dusk or in the early part of night, i can't help but fantasize. the just-barely-dark is the best time to examine the lives of others: their choices in living room décor, what sort of lighting they prefer, etc.

what i mean is i fantasize about what my apartment and day-to-day life will be like when i'm older. this has been a long-standing fantasy of mine — in fact, i remember looking at apartments and thinking of my own life when i was seven years old (on a sidenote, i was a very dramatic only child and have been a hopeless romantic since i first understood what romance is) — but now, looking back, i realize that it is so much closer than i ever wanted. my fantasies always start with something like, "in 20 years...," (which evolved into "in 10 years..." and, tonight, i realize that this fantasy of mine is less than 5 years away) and wind up with fantastical ideas of how happy i'll be.

except, not really. it's more of a melancholy chaos.

as i walked home today, i spotted an apartment — well, okay, a dorm room in an apartment building — that had chinese lanterns hanging from its ceiling. who knows how or why (i certainly don't pretend to understand how my own mind works), but i launched into a great imagined future, where i will be young and beautiful and have a job i at least enjoy and live in a nice place i've made my own and can't wait to come home to every night. i'll call up the best friend i've ever had and say, "let's go out tonight," or — even better! — "stop by my place before you go home; i feel like cooking dinner," and by this time i'll understand what julia child's talking about when she tells me i can cook like her, and my lamp-lit apartment will smell of lovely things, and ring with laughter and faint jazz as we discuss how we hate the rest of the world and love obscure writings about the cynicism the rest of the world should adopt.

i'm not here to learn how to read books or edit things; yes, that's what this is all about, but it's really not. i'm here to learn that no matter how fantastical i allow my dreams to become, i will not make them come true. i'm here to understand that, in five years, i will come home, alone, overlook the cookbooks that are gathering dust, turn on the stove and reach for the box of kraft macaroni and cheese. again.