Funny how I attributed a little bit of psychedelia to that sweet song by the Monkees... It's just more fun to think of a singing razor, now isn't it?
(The real word is, ..."and it stings." Duh!)
Go on, I'll wait a second while you cue up "Daydream Believer" by the Monkees on your Spotify or iTunes.
...
This day of cooler weather (yesterday was so lovely! Today is too, but I'm feeling a bit more of a chill today. It's 72 right now, which is perfect. It might just be because I'm wearing a skirt, or maybe they haven't adjusted the air conditioner in my building yet. I can't wait to go outside for my afternoon walk) has me in total daydream mode. I guess when the weather is warm, or downright hot like it's been lately, it's just not as much fun for me to fantasize about cuddling up in a bunch of blankets, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and leggings. And a nice pair of tie dyed socks. I get them in Monterey: I'm due for another trip, I guess, because last time I looked, I was missing a pair. Oh, yes, that's my cozy outfit, right there (and my brother just handed down an awesome "Brooklyn" hoodie that I can't wait to wear): now you know.
Don't get me wrong: I have no desire to hole up in the house: I'm imagining me, my hoodie and sweats, my pile of blankets and pillows outside. On the grass, in my beautifully landscaped backyard, which is now getting a little wild (exactly how I like it, please put down the clippers, Mr. Palma!), with a book in my hand, a Tupperware container full of cookies or maybe grapes and cheese, maybe both, and a beer. Oh, yeah: a beer would be so nice in this little scenario. With the computer in the garage playing a Pandora mix of XTC or the Cure or Roxy Music or Lysa Flores (or all of them).
I'll just lay back with my book and gaze up at the fluffy clouds and be in total heaven. I would be so snug and cozy, my hair a mess, my head full of words and music, my eyes full of sky. Is it just me, or does that sound perfect?
To quote the guy who wrote "Daydream Believer" (that person's name is not Mickey, Peter, Michael, or Davy): but how much baby, do we really need?
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