Blog Entry: .hand me a gun and my future life fantasy

.hand me a gun and my future life fantasy So after lying practically comatose for two days because I had a 38C fever and total delirium, I am finally up and guess what? Now I have the cold.

Lying with fever wasn’t all that bad, I just got to drift in and out of sleep and it gave me time to think (probably not a very good idea), but with slime in my nose and ugh, my sinuses I feel like there’s a giant marshmallow in my skull and it’s gonna blow. And NOT in a positive, life-affirming way, Mr. Kinney.

Anyway, about the whole ‘thinking’ thing. Between feeling sorry for myself and watching Vampire Diaries (I admit it, somehow I got hooked. So sue me), I thought about what I would like to do when I ‘grew up’ and the answer I came up with is kind of out there, but let me just share it. Here goes.

When I graduate from horrid high school in un-fabulous Kiev, I am grabbing the first ticket to Toronto (I don’t know if there’s even a direct flight plus I need to pass this government test after I finish school, but for the sake of fever-induced fantasies, let’s suspend reality for a second), I am enrolling at U of T (again, because I don’t know any other universities in Toronto) at who-the-f*ck-cares-which-department-because-you’re-so-awesome, and I’m moving in with my new gay best friend whose name will be a one-syllable TV-show name like Blake or Drake or, if there are none, Harrison and we will spend long evenings of my first year studying (of course, he would want to be an interior designer), watching old Bette Davis movies and eating non-fat popcorn. Later, somewhere in the middle of my second or third year I will get my LASIK surgery and will stop being blind as a bat, but while I’m coming out of the clinic, I trip and someone brakes my fall. I look up… And there’s that music producer who is looking for an international star. I get my first Grammy, push Taylor Swift off-stage and then even manage to dance a tango with Prince and Adam Lambert.

While I’m sitting in a cafe, where, of course, nobody knows me, this girl comes up to me and says: “Mind if I sit here?�. A few months later, we get hitched in jeans and she agrees to carry our first (and only) child. When it’s born, it turns out that the child is mute - I could never really stand loud kids - but adorable, nontheless.

A year later, I go to a class reunion to Kiev with my wife in tow, together with our gay baby boy Taylor and I see all my classmates, sad, alone and old. I laugh in their face and my wife and I walk off into the sunset, sipping pink champagne (or beers, if that seems more butch).

There.

In your face, Carrie Bradshaw.