Welcome to My Vivid Imagination

I have a rich fantasy life these days.

Like, how great it would be to sleep through the night and not restlessly wonder what the Trump administration is dismantling, trampling, or corrupting.

I imagine lingering over multi-course meals inside restaurants with my friends, maskless, lipsticked, hugging good-bye. Maybe sitting at a bar with a glass of wine and enjoying the ambiance and even flirting again.

I fantasize about art museums and Broadway shows and botanical gardens and cafes and department stores and weight training and literary readings and travel, all things that keep popping up in my Facebook memories.

I contrive a scenario where the United States gets a universal testing system for Coronavirus nearly as sophisticated and efficient as Germany’s BEFORE the pandemic actually ends. You know, they come to you, swab, and results are back in a day.

Sometimes the fantasies get trippy. I have this whole setup in my head of different activities going on in the various clouds where people go when they’ve left us. The Pearly Gates are on the main cloud, where those who enter are greeted by God, who is actually Helen Reddy singing I Am Woman.

I imagine Ruth Bader Ginsburg, like Patrick Swayze’s character in Ghost, is learning how to use her powers from the other…