I want to focus. I need to focus. Focus focus focus.

Instead I can’t focus.

I want to sit on my couch with Montego snoring at my side. Candles lit. White lights on. Striped socks on my feet.

Instead I sit in this uncomfortable chair, typing on this hellish iBook whose keyboard is so opposite of ergonomic it’s zergononmic. (I don’t know. What do you think’s the opposite of ergonomic?)

I want to win the Lotto and wear pjs and big fuzzy, pink slippers all day long and read books and drink hot chocolate made with steamed milk instead of water.

I want to stare at my Christmas tree so long it stops looking crooked. I want to finish wrapping my presents. I want more presents to wrap. I want to get my checkbook balanced and bring a feeling of calm to my whacked out financial world.

Instead I have to go baby-sit brats one and two in a small town so far away from my house it might as well be in West Virginia.

I want to understand what this lyric means…

Have you seen Ohio rise?

Because really, there are no hills here. What’s rising? The road?

But I do like this:

Take a breath
Take your time
Spread your wings and rise
Rise into the black Ohio skies

I want to blast this CD so it shakes my house, sending Montego under the table, away from my dancing feet.

Instead I sit at my desk. Not focusing. Clicking refresh on Yahoo! Mail every five seconds – looking for something to take me away from my spinning mind. Something I can focus on, so I can refocus on what I should be focusing on. (Confused, much?)

I want to develop the pictures I took of Montego playing in the snow. I want to scan them in and show you my backyard and the scary ass garage that I’m sure holds bodies in mystery Hefty bags.

I want to build a snowman. I’ve never built a snowman. But now all the snow is ice, and we’re only supposed to get a light dusting.

Instead I drink my hot chocolate and look at my To Do list and add yet another task. An inane task. A task I abhor. Why can’t it just be about being creative, not about checking, re-checking, research? Bah.

Why do I always end my sentences in periods, instead of question marks. Getting that little squiggly green line (tm Microsoft). Grammar error!

I want my brain to work the way it used to. I want to be smart again. Not dumbed down for the masses.

Instead I get frustrated when I can’t find a quick answer. Instead I look at words so long I misspell them because the correct spelling, can’t be right. Can it?

Spork.

I want to not eat so much I feel like I’m going to explode. I want to not fantasize about fasting or purging or whatever.

Instead I’m grossing us all out.

I want this day to be over. I want to post this entry. I want more feedback from y’all.

Instead I feel like I write this only to friends. Because really, couldn’t we just email instead?

I want to know what you like about my journey. Instead I sit not knowing. I want feedback, but I also don’t. Because, frankly, does it matter what you think?

I want my ego stroked. I will say that. I could say that some more.

Instead I’ll stop.

I wish I was a girl, so that you could believe me.

I want to move to California. Or South Carolina. Or Florida. I want to move somewhere sunny and shiny.

Instead, I stay in Ohio. In this cold drab place.

I want to find a reason to stay here. I want to find a reason to love here.

Instead I see reasons to leave, wrapped up in excuses to stay.

I want to stop listening to this Counting Crows CD.

Instead, I push the arrow button on the AppleCD Audio Player and Adam begins.