do whatever you want day

Someone asked me what I would do all day if I could get paid to do anything. I said read and internet creep, but I like to think my perfect day would be a little wilder.

I’d wake up naturally at 5am because my bladder would be hurting from having to go to the bathroom so bad. After relieving myself, I’d get back in bed and fall back asleep knowing that I still had beautiful pillow hours ahead of me.  Love that feeling.

At 8am I’d wake up for real. I’d lay in bed and read for a few minutes while Josh made me an omelet.  Thanks, Josh.

At 9, I’d do some light internet creeping and maybe work on one of the many projects on my plate that I do for funsies.

At 11, Oprah would text me asking if I wanted to go for a brisk walk. Well yes, I would! We’d meet up in matching velour track suits and hit the trail. During the walk, we’d swing our arms a lot and talk about our favorite books and podcasts, catch up on friendly gossip and swap stories on what it’s like being media moguls. She’d insist I join her for the Influential Women’s something-something dinner that night. Oh fine, O!

Light lunch, I’m not picky.

I’d kick off the afternoon with some reading on the patio, preferably in a hammock. Then a one-hour nap. Josh would wake me up singing Good Morning from Singing in the Rain and suggest we walk to Wendy’s for frostys. Naturally, I’m game.

We are somewhere near a lake, so Josh and I would jump off the dock and bob in the water sipping lake beer. Maybe some friends or family would join us. Look, I don’t know if we’re part of their best day plans?

At five I’d take a shower and get ready for the event that night. Julie would help me with hair and makeup. I can’t look like a complete oger, there might be cameras. Oprah would send a car to pick me up.

Oprah and Gayle are seated at my table, of course. Gayle and I are very friendly and not competitive for Oprah’s attention at all. Beyonce slides in right before salads begin. Gloria Steinem is telling stories, and Michelle Obama is checking her instagram. Lena Dunham invites me to a concert after the dinner with her, I say yes. She seems down to earth and the tickets are on her.

Turns out it’s a Bleachers concert, which makes sense. All my favorite dance floor friends happen to be there and we pretend like it’s Alley Bar during our prime. At 1am, the show is over and we all go home. I put on my softest nightgown and fall asleep.