Properly Awry

Sometimes,
some days,
some (melancholy) days,
I like to believe that this life is one of many parallel lives, and in my other parallel lives I am things I am not:

I am a published writer with 3-4 books under my belt,or
I am born with red hair to match my freckles,  or
I am 5'9", or
I won the lottery, or
I have travelled to more than 1 other continent, or
I am a closet drunk, or
I am still 110 lbs, or
I am a mad scientist, or
I am a drummer in a band, or
I am a librarian, or
I am a shapeshifter, or
I am a person who misplaces things, or
I am kickass with a gun, or
I am a successful local actress (appearing on Fringe and Supernatural), or
I am a superhero avenging animal cruelty, or
I am mother to J.D., Vedder and Delia, or
I have 2 parents, or
I am a survivor of the apocalypse, or
I am not self-conscious, or
I have horseshoes up my ass, or
I am not lacking in friends, or
I am a furniture designer, or
I own a bookstore, or
I am a revolutionary, or
I am rewarded for the work I do, or
I am unforgettable, or
I have a PhD, or
I have some terrible disease, or
I am carefree, or
I am tattooed on all 4 limbs, or
I am all that others think I should be, or
I am a charming surprise, or
or
or
or
or any combination of the above.

These are of course, not all things I have wished or do wish to achieve, or aim to become, they are simply daydreams of a parallel life that isn't, but somewhere could be.