Tag Archives: imagineering

Vision Bored

And for that reason I'm outOn New Year’s Day, I texted “Come over, we’re making Vision Boards!” I don’t know why I woke up and conjured that one up, because that is stupid magical thinking Oprah/hippie crap, but it seemed like cutting little pieces out of magazines while drinking mimosas might be a reasonable way to pass a slightly cotton-fluff-wrapped day.

To my shock, no one protested, and everyone showed up with bags of magazines and booze. We snipped and shredded a collection that ranged from the Amex Travel mag that always reminds how unrich I am to the Harvard Business Review to High Times to American Bungalow. We were lost in a flurry of diamonds and safaris, sticky rainbow buds and tasteful woodwork, plus pithy quotes like “To really motivate someone, shut up already.” American Bungalow also started to sound dirty if you said it enough times.

The kids finished up first, but the adults know how to really fill a page. Negative space has no place in a vision board! That would be so…negative. And we sniffed the glue sticks, I admit. Hours later, we moved on to pasta, and the course of the year was set in stone.

Everything started falling into place almost immediately: 11:11 on the clock at least twice a day, patterns in license plates, old friends coming out of the woodwork, full moons, black cats, and dead birds. If you can auger with it, it showed up.

As of now, everything I put on my board as an abstract hope has already come true for the year. I guess I should have used a bigger board or dreamed a bit bigger. It’s always sad to be confronted with the limitations of one’s creativity.

What if I had pasted in a picture of Buzzfeed and juxtaposed it with a mushroom cloud? Then Lambchop could stop being plagued by quizzes that help you find out what kind of hummus you are based on your favorite Dr. Who character, or those 93 sloths that are perpetually unable to handle anything in their lives right now.

Still, it’s good to know magical thinking really works! Next year I’m going to make my board all about swimming in a money bin, and I’m going to take care of that North Korea thing, AIDS, cancer, people who talk about the paleo diet and/or Ayn Rand, and the practice of not finishing sentences because Lambchop can’t even. I mean THIS. For days. Because whatever.

My true calling

It ain’t packing, that’s for sure. Last night I realized I had diligently sealed up all the plates and utensils 3 days in advance of the big move. Eating was a barbaric undertaking, right out of Tom Jones.

But my real life’s wish? To be a rich eccentric. “Oh, now that I’m retired, I mainly race a stable of pigs, ridden by monkeys.”

Glad we sorted that out. I don’t think it’s *that* odd that I have no desire to hold down a job. Both my parents didn’t work when I was a child. A steady diet of seeing your formative role models doing whatever they damn well please may adversely affect one’s inclination to take orders from fools. Unfortunately, they spent my trust fund already by not working. That and some ill-advised day-trading.


Oh, and another thing about that commute…

I queued up for the train as always, healing like a concession of defeat. The colder it gets, physician the larger and more desperate this mob becomes. This morning I was part of a faceless torrent of blighted souls, like a yuppie death march toward Dunkin Donuts, hunched over and lurching forward. I dropped a glove and thought I might be trampled if I bent to retrieve it.

While release from the train may be ecstasy, we are swallowed instantly by the cavern.

This is what I feel like:

OOH, congratulations to Licketysplit for achieving, uhhh, something.