I could fall in love with that fire escape

It's fair to assume that the mass of North Americans consider something like receiving extra sprinkles or hot fudge on their sundae, at no extra charge, as somewhat of a delight. It puts a smile on their face no doubt, a little extra spring in their step. That is, it is fair to assume, not only the unlikely kindness of the overworked and underpaid adolescent server, but also the additional sugary goodness would improve said North American's day. This happens to me all of the time. And like a flick of a switch, a smile appears on my face, and I am overwhelmed with the most loving warmth.

It's the little things that make my day. And yes, the changes of my mood from gloomy to happy are rapid, but my bipolarity is not the point I'm trying to explore here, it's that little things are meaningful and can have such an incredible impact.

Des and I will soon be moving out of our current humble abode we call "Lord Dovercourt" and into a new place. It's quaint, cozy, lovely really. If it had a name, it'd be something like Lucy or Margine. But there's this window off the kitchen/living room that looks out to the fire escape - the brick walls of the building, and a maze of rusted metal stairs. As I sat facing this window signing the lease yesterday, I glanced out and suddenly I was in a trance. I was so incredibly inspired and my whole life flashed before my eyes, all because of these brick walls and this rather dangerous looking fire escape. I saw snow building up on the edges. I saw birds perched upon the rail. I saw a man. A handsome man without a face, that I would meet an apartment over and fall madly in love with. I saw us on a rug in front of a fire wearing ironic sweaters and listening to blue grass. Or even better, Christmas songs! And it smells like apple pie. But it would only last as long as a daydream, so that I wouldn't get bored, and it wouldn't turn sour. Just the way I like it.

"I could fall in love with that fire escape," I thought to myself in this daze.

That evening I went to the library. Another place that makes me fall in love with everything and everyone around me. Books are the sexiest thing on the planet. I want to write a million. A million children's stories to share with the world. Mother's are sexy. I take back every negative thing I said about mom bodies. They rock my world.

Anyways, Inari and I were discussing romance, as we often do in our yellow kitchen. And I was reading about a love story between an author and an illustrator. And it delighted me so much. I thought, "that's perfect... that's exactly what I want." And she asked, "Which would you be?" (given this highly unlikely but extremely appealing partnership would happen?")

That's easy, I thought. I would be the writer... he the illustrator. And we'd have the most insane conversations and adventures and sexual escapades. Can you imagine that? Waking up in a studio in Greenwich Village and writing while your foxy illustrator husband illustrates? Or in some shack on the beach in Southern California? Or some ranch in the Midwest? Or a cottage up North?

These daydreams literally make my hair stand on end. I literally feel my blood flowing through my veins. "Is this healthy," I think to myself, "to react to such imaginary scenarios, or inanimate objects with such intense stimulation?" I don't care if it is or if it isn't, because these are the moments I look forward to the most. The moments of inspiration.

I'm one of those people you see out in public, casually making their way to whatever destination, and suddenly you'll see them smile huge, or laugh out loud. And they're all by themselves. You're thinking, "CRAZZZZZZy lady!." But you know what I'm thinking? I'd be thinking of some random image or memory that pops into my head... and I can't help but react.

Sometimes when it gets really quiet and all I have are my thoughts, I think of the books I read as a kid... and it just feels comfortable. It feels like sitting by a window a few days before Christmas, with a mug of tea warming my palms, and I'm watching the snow fall out on the fire escape... and letting my thoughts wander around. And then there's a knock at the door... Am I expecting someone? Maybe. Maybe not. But in this instance, knocks on the doors are delightful. The kind of delight you feel when you and your pops are at Coney Island and the lines are long, but suddenly an overworked and underpaid kid gives you your sundae with extra sprinkles, a little more chocolate sauce, and hell a goddamn cherry on top. And all you wanna do is smile like some goof. And that's what I do. A lot.

xoLola.

I had this Uncle, a great Uncle, we called him "ZseZse New York." I thought he owned the city. That memory makes me smile