A Short Introduction

Product of my latest coffee induced caffeine high.

I want to travel. I want to travel to Spain, France, England, Ireland, Russia, Morocco, Bora Bora, Cuba, Afghanistan, Peru, Israel, Italy. I want to be a tourist. I want to see the sun touch foreign soil. I want to experience a language barrier. I want to be culturally shocked. I want to be on a plane, on a train, on a boat, in a car. I want to walk in the footsteps of a million people I’ve never met before.

I want to read. I want to read classics, memoirs, poems, textbooks, biographies, cheesy sci-fi novels, cliché crime thrillers. I want to befriend Mr. Darcy. I want to be able to quote everything at any time. I want to know, I want to learn, I want to understand.

I want to write. I want to write more. I want to write better. I want to shake the feeling that I have nothing to write about. I want to have a style that’s witty, clever, charming, misanthropic, cynical. I want positive reviews. I want people to love my work. I want to be clever.

I want to learn. I want to learn about Jewish history, black holes, birds, farm equipment, architecture, manatees, Greek mythology, algorithms, the FBI, the string theory, Arabic, the origins of man. I want to be able to rattle off facts and statistics that no one cares about.

I want to run. I want to run faster and smoother. I want to feel the steady reassuring pressure of my feet stroking concrete, asphalt, grass, leaves, water puddles, sand, mud. I want to feel the burn that starts deep in my belly and travels up my throat and crawls through my veins. I want to feel exhausted.

I want to feel accomplished. I want to cook a delicious meal. I want to write a captivating story with perfectly flawed characters. I want to make a work of art that I’m proud of. I want the satisfaction of making someone’s day better, giving someone directions, giving someone helpful advice, taking on someone else’s pain. I want to feel the unmistakable swell of importance.

I want to be confident. I want to be able to ride my skateboard on a steady pair of legs. I want to know exactly what to see in every situation. I want to walk with my head up. I want to be comfortable with how I look naked, in a swim suit, in a dress, in a t-shirt and jean shorts. I want to order my coffee without saying “um.” I want to have a stride.

I want to be smart. I want to know everything. I want to gobble up every bit of information I can. I want to annoy my friends with my infinite knowledge. I want to make all A’s, win awards, graduate with honors, make deadlines, do complex math in my head, expand my vocabulary. I want to be a walking encyclopedia.

I want to be a forensic analyst. I want to work for a federal law enforcement agency. I want to wear shirt with my last name on it. I want to cringe when people say “oh, like what they do on CSI?” when I introduce myself at parties. I want to photograph dead bodies, sneeze black fingerprint powder, cry when a crime is gruesome or the victim is a child, bond with co-workers who share my love for justice over after work drinks. I want to be a crime solver. I want to be a young girl’s hero.

I want to find an old camera at thrift store. I want to collect seashells. I want to be a better girlfriend. I want to inspire someone. I want to see my grandfather again. I want to have children. I want to sing and dance and be happy and embrace clichés.

I want to live.

The End

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