I want thanksgiving leftovers.
I want a new outfit to wear to a party, where all I eat is fantastic hors d’vours.
I want a picnic in the park with tea sandwiches and white unfiltered wine.
I want to be able to run.
I want thicker nails, better legs, and a smaller ass.
I want a royal packer, a live in hair stylist, and a wardrobe consultant.
I want a mounted plasma television in my living room.
I want stairs.
I want everything from the vivre catalogue.
I want to go fishing, listen to good music, and get drunk on the boat.  Then I want to cook and eat my fish.
I want to fall asleep with someone other than Linus.

I want more earrings, a personalized bespoke ebury bag, a wide angle lens, to eat dinner at Megu, to go to Oprah’s Favorite Things taping, much more space to keep everything I want.

Linus knows what he wants; he wants to roll in rabbit terds.  He wants treats and mommy’s lap.  He wants to keep shedding, to avoid a bath, to keep his cleats (he refuses to let me trim his nails).  He wants to sleep under the covers, lick up my nose until it hurts, catch a bird.

Want seems frightening.  I remember a friend telling me she had to teach her daughter not to care if other kids played with her favorite things.  We’re taught not to be selfish, not to want for ourselves.  And when we do admit to want, we’re expected to do something about, and that means action.  Risking.  Which might mean failure, which is scarier than wanting.  But not wanting due to fear of failure is sadder than gluttony.  It’s giving up before trying.  I don’t want to live like that.

I want to be a well-known, well-respected writer.  To love what I write, see it there on my computer screen and lick it.  To support myself through writing alone.

To make more money, so I can marry whomever I want without having to worry if he’ll support me.  To have a loving family of my own.  To have babies and a husband I’ll always adore and explore passion with.

I want a bath, because it’s soothing and slow and reminds me of being a child, listening with my ears underwater, staring at the ceiling, watching water pool in my bellybutton.

I want to be motivated to cook again.  I want a microwave again.  So I can make rice krispie treats and reheat.  I really want speghetti with fresh basil.

I want to take a vacation to somewhere beautiful and warm where I can take warm photographs.  I want beautiful photographs of beautiful memories to keep me warm all winter.

I want a grilled cheese sandwich.  I want French Onion soup.  Now I want a Pina Colada.

I want to have another girls dinner at 212.

I want to grill fish kebobs and eat more things with my fingers.

I want a terrace.

I want to make more mixed drinks with my kickass and taking names Waring blender.

I want Linus to never die.

I want.  And that ain’t bad.