All the things I want

This post started late on Friday night as I was returning home from Bar Suita where we drank vodka and listened to Ray Charles. At least, that is the only artist I recognized.

As I sat in the back seat of the taxi, I stared out onto the busy streets of Central Athens. It must have rained earlier because the road glistened like a black-sequined skirt and the air? It smelt of nature–a feat next to impossible in this cement-ridden metropolis.

The store lights, the traffic lights and the car lights all merged into one on my window and for a second I did not know whether I was looking at the real lights or the reflection of lights? I could see my own face in the window looking out. Or was I looking in?

It was with this type of introspection that we left Central Athens behind us and moved South where there were fewer cars and fewer lights. In semi-darkness, I found an old pencil in my black bag, opened my notebook and without looking down began to make a list of all the things I wanted. This is what I wrote.

I want a driver. No, I want to have someone to go out and come home with. I want a boyfriend. Or a friend with no boyfriend will also do.

I want some excitement. I want to share beautiful moments with someone. And laugh. I want to laugh uncontrollably.

I want to write. For a living. I want to be read. But mostly I want to write. Not in another lifetime. Today. In this one.

I want passion. And intimacy. And comfort. And friendship.

I want to fit into my ‘thin’ jeans. I want to feel worthy.

I want to let go, hold on and be part of something all at the same time.

But, what I really want is a burger. With fries.