In an Alternate Universe
All of the sacrifice we have been making doesn’t exist in my alternate universe. Embracing magical thinking has no consequences in this alternate sphere and choosing to play by alternate rules, well it rules.
I would like to live in an alternate universe. In that alternate universe I live on a beach and it is not cold and gray six out of every seven days. I would like to live a life not constrained by a pandemic, or financial insecurity. In my alternate universe no one is hungry, or food insecure. Jewish Mothers have been mobilized to feed the needy and Oy are they ever eating well.
In my alternate universe I like to throw huge parties in my fancy house and I have multitudes of admirers. I stand on my stairway landing and thank them for their love and adoration. They throw kisses and tell me they love me. Oh, that universe is taken, excuse me Mr. President. Please put on your mask.
In my alternate universe I am 30 years younger. My knees don’t hurt. I have long wavy hair draping to the center of my back, it is not white. My clothing is eclectic and chic and I wear it well. I make a living writing, a good living, and my dog adores me and never farts.
OK, some things are the same in that universe.
Wallace, my flatulent, superhero canine still adores me. He is happier because I am home more, and don’t leave him for work. He just eyes me when I take out this laptop and walks away from me. I’m getting my multiple universe’s confused. But I know he would love me more completely if we lived on that beach, and went outside more. He would still fart. Frankly, I would too.
In my alternate universe, Hilary Clinton has been president for four years.
Maybe that universe isn’t so hot either. Hmmmm….
So Bernie Sanders is president in my other reality, and I make $37.00 an hour. I like my other universe more now, even with the dog farts.
And my health care is free and everyone gets a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, flavor of their choice, on Fridays. The song Kumbaya is sung at NFL games immediately after the National Anthem. No one kneels, they lay motionless on the 50 yard line in the fetal position instead.
Brene Brown is the Secretary of HHS and vulerability is the only “virus” spreading like wildfire. We all are learning to live whole heartedly. The Trumpist equivalent is those who refuse to show compassion for puppies, so there is not an equivalent in my alternate universe. Kitten videos are even more popular there than they are in this universe.
Penguins have been approved for adoption as family pets. But only if you agree to build them an outdoor pool and play space and you are considered an essential caregiver for penguins if you live in Maine, NH, Vermont, Minnesota, Wisconsin or any other miserably cold northern state. Anxiety has been cured, penguins it turns out are the antidote, soon everyone who agrees to take one will be immune.
There are no guns in my alternative space. They were never invented. When nations want to have a war they yell insults at each other’s mothers. The mothers then come out and yell at each other and it ends with everyone exchanging recipes and hugging and eating blintzes and drinking really good coffee.
It is my alternate universe so I can make it anything I want.