What I would do in another life

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There are times I wake up and like to pretend that, between the hours of 7:30 a.m. and 9:00 a.m., I am a different person with a different life.

Grinding coffee, I think about making my own wine.  I grew up on a farm.  I could grow grapes.  My vineyard would be small, my vintages coveted, my family—all of them—barefoot.  And I would wake up each day to the smell of dew on soil.

Cutting fruit for my cereal, I envision life as a produce grocer.  My booth would be small and tucked away on a lazy street.  It would be infamous because each piece of fruit, every single vegetable, would be hand-selected by me.  I would get up before the sunrise each day.  I would peddle my wares, joke with my regulars, and make an honest living.  And each day I would close up shop shortly after the lunch hour rush, share a fresh mango with my wife, and then make lazy afternoon love to her before my siesta.

And showering, I imagine being an entomologist.  Ants would be my specialty.  I would spend entire days watching a single colony.  Not taking notes.  Just watching.  My research would be insightful, prolific, studious and careful and loving.  And as the sun set and the ants settled into their homes underground or in hollowed trees, I would reflect on my place in this world—small, rambling, and almost harmonious with everything else around me.

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