It isn’t fair my eyebrows never grew back right after I plucked them to look like Carol Lombard in middle school.  And it’s shitty I’m bad at math.  Moses thinks it’s unfortunate I hate dim sum, and I think it’s sad our cat has fleas.  It’s also not fair I’m critical, and I usually think people are at least a little bit “out-to-get-me” and my mother once told me it “never occurred” to her I was very pretty.  I wish I didn’t grind my teeth when I sleep, or drink red wine or use the expression “I feel like.”  And I’d like it if I saw more of my father and didn’t hold grudges or wonder if there really is a God, and if so why he didn’t feel compelled to make me really good at something like public speaking or song writing or again, math.  Something useful to pay bills and make people ruefully smile and shake their heads and say “oh, that Jamie.  You know her and (insert anything here and it could be a lie).”

I sometimes wish I’d never left New York and it depresses me I wasn’t around to babysit Eloise when she was six or seven, but mostly it bugs me I didn’t realize it would bother me so much if I left her in the first place.  I’d also like it if green bean casserole with the fried onions out of a can weren’t so midwestern and passe, because I really like it.  And it’s crummy I always think I’d be a different person if I were some where else and that the other places seem better than the one I’m in.  I also wish reading self-help books fixed things, and that Dexter would start again or that I lived inside Harry Potter.  I’d like to have Mary Richards apartment on The Mary Tyler Moore Show and I’d like to have thinner legs and not be long-waisted but long-legged.  

I’d like to have this essay sound a little more Milne and a little less Lohan.  But on that note, I wish Erica Cunningham hadn’t made fun of my jean skirt in Montessori and that I played piano better and didn’t have to sing that stupid song from The Sound of Music to read notes.  I wish I were either tall like other Jamie or small like Joan Didion, but being in between sort of stinks.

I hate that I have bad allergies and flower smells make my legs itch, and that I spend a lot of time just…thinking about nonsense.  And I wish I still matched all my socks and ran as often as I used to.  But mostly I wish today wasn’t such a lousy day.  

Sometimes, I think some days are so bad, even my mother would tell me I have carte blanche to belly ache, but she’s awfully busy, my mother. 

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