I've been having a recurring fantasy.
Oh it's a hot one, this fantasy of mine.
So hot it sizzles.
It's pretty simple in theory: tear up our roots, sell our house, quit our jobs, relocate to the quiet fantasy place I'm certain exists somewhere besides my daydreams.
Upon arrival at our mythical destination, we'll pay cash for a piece of real estate costing but a fraction of what houses go for in the suburban paradise we now inhabit. There will be no mortgage and therefore no pressure to earn the "big bucks" (har!) our current lifestyle requires. We'll have no-stress jobs we'll leave behind upon returning home. There will be no lengthy traffic-filled commutes and no hordes of humankind clogging places we want to go. There will be a vegetable garden, an office with a spectacular natural view, a huge woodpile, seasons with definition, and an outdoor cat to keep the shed free of mice. Our dogs will like it there, too.
None of our neighbors in this mythical place will care that we are two women who share a king-sized bed. The mythical government will welcome us with open arms.
Oh! There will be a hardware store in town, too. A real hardware store. One with a wide selection of all things which rightfully should be sold in a hardware store along with plenty of friendly staff willing to impart their practical techniques and wisdom to patrons. It won't be some lameass store like the one in the town where my mother lives that only sells 3/16 screws in lengths of 2" and 3" when we what we really need are 2-1/2" (yes I'm bitter!).
See what I mean?
This fantasy rocks.