Imagine

 Sometimes I get sea sick. Not really sea sick. I’ve never really been in a boat long enough to actually get sea sick. But I feel like I have been on a boat for the past several months and I’m wobbling around trying to get back on real footing. Two under two. Rob back at work. A senior in high school. A tween that is torn between childhood and growing up. And then me. Trying to find out what I need to be doing next. I have applied for 1245 jobs and 10 internships.

Yes. Internships. I may be 47 but I’m not proud. It’s not that I’m desperately searching for myself or anything. I know who I am. I am a mom. A struggling writer. I own a little online bookshop that I work on with my daughter. But for some reason I feel drawn to this hunt. Sometimes I get little nuggets. My favorite agent is looking for someone to help with manuscripts. Perfect! I applied. Then I envision myself, cup of coffee in hand, sleeping baby by my side. Flipping through manuscripts and finding beautiful books that I will discover. “This one!” I’ll say to Magical Agent Lady. “It’s perfect!”

“Megan!” Magical Agent will say, “You are brilliant! The fact that you are old and a mother and a brilliant writer yourself makes you such a perfect intern! You’re right! This manuscript is perfect!”

It could happen. 

It’s houses too. I imagine the life we would live there. New wallpaper. Bigger rooms. A lovely garden that the children will wander through. Not a dog poo in site. 

A girl can dream. But then I wake up. And there are diapers to change and emotional little ladies to hug and messy rooms. And lots of soups to make and children to raise. Son’s to watch go off on their own. 

Sigh. Maybe I just want more of this life. I want to have all the different ways that Megan Hunnicutt could live in this world in the short moment I am given.