Around this time last year, I wrote a wish list of things I would like, if only I had people buying me holiday presents. I figured I might as well see what I want this year.
Sheets. I would like sheets. Soft sheets, that properly fit the bed I sleep in. I am tired of rough, too-big sheets.
A light table! My art often requires me to trace things repeatedly. Without a light table, I am forced to tape things to windows on sunny days, pushing through discomfort and shaking the ink back toward the tip of my pen. If I just had a light table, these steps would be SO much easier.
A sequined skirt. I would love one in silver, but I’d totally take one in black. Along with this, I really, really want someplace to wear it to on new years.
Beyond that (and trust me, even this short list has been a stretch) I don’t want things.
I want my mom to move the damn green table out of this place, so I can de-cramp my studio.
I want all of her stuff out of here, actually, but that’s like wishing for the taj mahal.
I want to get into grad school.
I want a job.
I want to be able to get coffee with the scientist. I want it to be casual and pleasant.
Unfortunately, I don’t think those are things any Santa could really deliver on. A team of movers, an admissions board, and cupid, maybe. But not Santa.