Pipe Dream

I need an idea to love. I need a character I can relate to.  I need a story to motivate me.  It does not even have to be a new story; I’ll settle for a tired re-hash and flatter myself that I can repackage it, disguise it, make it feel fresh.  My muse is fucking with me. But that’s not entirely true.   My non-existent muse is just fucking me. Hard.  I need an open Cuban bar with cigars and mojitos and the Buena Vista Social Club. I need to pretend that I am quietly observant and tangibly sophisticated.  I want to be sitting at the bar outdoors on an evening of tropical heat with light breezes and subtle trickles of sweat.  I want to be tanned and tired from the sun and the water.  I want to be intoxicated enough to feel happy and charming, but not loud or laughing… just smiling and conversational and filled with good ideas for the next several chapters of my book.

            I want to know the bartender and feel, rather than see, my lover sleepily dancing behind me, lost in her own world that is entirely enveloped by my world so she sees no one but me.  I want her to dance all night while we drink well and steady with me sitting and talking casually to strangers until we are tired enough to sleep after holding hands and kissing. I want to sleep on clean white linen sheets and a light blanket to ward off the delicious chill from the slow fan pushing the night breezes off the gulf.  I want to be slightly awakened by moonlight and see its path spreading over the water before slipping back into sleep.

            I want to wake up with the sun on my face through flimsy curtains and shower quickly and get to my table to write while it is still cool before the heat makes me distracted and thirsty for cold beer.  I want to write while the girl still sleeps on the linen sheets. I want to write in a clean, simple room with tall ceilings and paned windows.  I want to be lost in my work, writing good true paragraphs and not seeing that she has awakened quietly and is just watching me and not saying anything to disturb me because she sees that I am writing so well and quickly.

            I want to finish one more sentence before seeing her rise for her bath knowing that I can write for one more hour if I choose and know that it will still be early in the day and that when she is finished bathing, I will be finished writing and we can have breakfast together and eat slowly to enjoy the food and the time together.  I think I could write a book like that.