any given monday

i realized, without realization, what and who i wanted to be. that image, so perfect and clean that had been eluding me these odd twenty-eight years (technically, anything over ten should be 10 such as twenty-eight should be 28. At least for newspaper journalism — MLA handbook). i began my daily ritual, which required me to open up and start writing only to get lost in all those words. a mere mention of “the sound of music” lent me to spending several hours searching about the family via various engines (mamma, hotbot, altavista, google, oh my!) only to find little to nothing on the family. disappointed i started reading various online journals (always the voyeur, never the participant) and lost several hours again.
I’m watching Wednesday chew on the “brides” magazine i had bought nearly a month ago and wonder where all the time has gone (magazine has gone unread as like the rest of my subscriptions to rolling stone, brills content, penthouse letters and nerve among others). a pile nearly 3 feet deep reigns on one my shelves of magazines waiting to be read — the kind you want to read on a Sunday afternoon when it’s raining. one does not go out to buy an inch edition of vanity fair featuring the slightly obsessive gwynnie paltrow when one has that kind of material lying around does one? yes, one certainly does.
I’ve have a big crush on maura. she’s so keen.
life often continues on this spiral I’ve noticed. dreams and wishes and things we want only to never really achieve them. magazines often feel like that kind of etherealness. i think gwynnie paltrow is the WORSE actress known to man (I’ve walked out on Shakespeare in love), but I’m obsessed by her and her life. the glam-carefee life of the social diva. vanity fair spoiled me for the next few days as i dream about what it would be like to have grown up on the upper west side of ny, to summer in the hamptons and to have gone to a private school so elite, your blood must be so blue that it’s black to get in.
it’s in times like this that i often think about my own family and my heritage, how i guffaw about my great-grandfather the booze runner in the 1920’s, my grandfather the bricklayer and my father who was taxi cab driver (as one of his many professions). i dream and wonder why i couldn’t have that kind of life — where money and prestige was something i could have been born to and not dream about.
Wednesday is chewing on my toes.