Favorite color and Pinot Noir

*Note, I just found this draft...and I love it! It's from 4 years ago. :)

My fingers are in a flurry above the keys of my laptop. The large, almost gaudy, silver ring flashes as the light from the ceiling bounces off, reminding me of the refractive nature of my own life. I sit at a tall, glass topped, round cafe table with my feet casually hooked on the 'landing' that floats above the floor and doesn't reach past halfway on the table legs. I pause to take a sip of Pinot Noir from my Andrew Murray Vineyards wineglass and decide that I should be a writer. There are still 3 cups of 10 left in my eye-opening machine, eternally waiting to be discovered. To my left is a large oil-on-canvass painting of a french cafe in mid morning light, which accents my 'color of passion, no longer smoldering, but on fire!' red kitchen.

Then it occurs to me that something is wrong. My ring really reminds me of Captain Planet, and I'm distracted wondering if I hold it at a certain angle that perhaps people might come flying in to my house trying to seek out and annihilate toxic waste.

I've never been to the Andrew Murray Vineyards. Hell, I don't even know where it is. I got a box of wineglasses at a yard sale for $7.

My Oil on Canvass is from Target, not the streets of Paris.

My bistro table was purchased from Value City with an income tax check from two years ago, and I felt guilty for spending the two hundred bucks for over a month. The chair I'm sitting in was assembled wrong and it rocks unless I put a coaster under it.

I didn't know what Pinot Noir tasted like. I bought it because it's called, "Smoking Loon" and I liked the story about the mad man mercinary on the back of the bottle when I bought it from a supermarket chain two nights ago.

I have absolutely no idea what my favorite color is. Or my favoirte number. Or my favorite season. Really, how can people be so decisive?? One color beats all the others? I don't buy it. Why do you even care about a favorite number?

And this is my entire life. The image of what I want to be pervades my mind, and makes reality somewhat less. My age now is officialy, "I'll be 26 in May" and the question, "what do you want to be when you grow up" still makes my stomache hurt.

I should have a clue by now! I should know my favorite color, my favoirte number, and what I want to do everyday.

The problem is, I'm horrible at choosing. What happens if I say GREEN is my favorite color, but I don't really want a green bathroom, or a green dress. I just think green eyes are incredibly sexy. I've lied to myself and I have to fight cognitive dissonance everyday to convince myself otherwise.

Does that make me non-commital. Am I scared to make a choice and stick to it? Maybe. But maybe I'm just not very good at lying to myself, and so I think it's foolish to lie to others.

Or perhaps I like the sense of adventure that comes with having absolutely no idea who or what I am.

Or it could all boil down to the fact that jesus made me bitter by his non-existance. Maybe I realize that it is ridiculously easy for me to fool myself so I've decided to play the game of always riding the fence. That way I don't dissappoint myself when I turn out to be shamefully wrong.

END OF GLASS ONE.

I'm tired of being poetic, so I've moved to the couch. Plus, my tailbone hurts from sitting in the kitchen chair.