“Remoted” – Day 429 (Wednesday)

Lily of the valley
beginning to pop.

There is not enough that can be said about the weather this week. It's been spectacular. Fan-frigging-tastic. The days have been warm and sunny and the garden is beginning to bloom. The nights have been perfect for sleeping with the window open a few inches. It’s still light out after 8:00 and, except for the thick coat of pollen on everything, it feels like the perfect weather and conditions. It has me wondering where I can live that has year-round temperatures around 80 in the daytime, in the 50s at night, and with the long light of May and June in New England. That seems ideal. 

The deck table umbrella plan is taking shape and if it comes out in real life the way it is in my head it will be awesome. So, so very awesome. And if it doesn’t actually come out as great as I’m imagining it will, I can take solace in the fact it spends most of the time closed. This weekend is the target for production, weather permitting.

This week’s Netflix entertainment, Dirty John with Connie Britton, has been a thrill ride. Holy crap, what a series. It’s suspenseful and disturbing because it's based on real people and events. Connie Britton is amazing, as always. Her character’s wardrobe and home and Maserati are the life I once fantasized about. You know, when I was in college, living at home, walking a mile from home to classes and then walking to work at a series of minimum wage jobs that paid my tuition. It was fashion magazines like W Magazine with the ads for designer fashions, jewelry, and luxury goods that motivated me. My life was going to be peppered with jewels from Tiffany, vacations to exotic locales, luxury cars, an Amex Black Card, and a huge and beautiful home.

The rich fantasy life lasted until life took over with the harsh doses of reality that no, I wouldn’t be busting out of Fitchburg and landing in the lap of status and wealth. Ever. Sure, Fitchburg made it to the rear-view mirror, but I never managed to figure out how to work my way to being wealthy. At least I like ramen, and the festering disappointment and resentment are the fuel that keeps me going. Who needs a huge home with a view and a Maserati when they can have a tiny bungalow, never-ending vet bills, and a 2004 SUV? So sweet. At least nobody is trying to marry me for my money (or anything else), although that first (now ex) husband used to tell people, including my bosses at the company Christmas party, that he married me for my credit rating and health insurance.