In what may be a continuation of a past installment of this blog, I continue to wish you all the best; I may have already written most of this but here goes anyway: I want only the best for you.
I hope that someday you will find a flavor of toothpaste that really is to your liking - not just one where you merely tolerate using it, but one where you actually look forward to leaping out of bed and jogging to the bathroom and slathering the toothpaste across your teeth and gums every morning before summarily spitting it out.
I would love to hear that you have come up with a really clever and funny name for your home wireless internet network, and a yet-funnier password to accompany it; a name/passphrase combination so artless and inspired that you can't wait to have guests over who will need to use your wifi.
I dream that you will have occasion to eat unflavored greek yogurt out of a tub late at night while sitting in a basement apartment in a foreign city.
It brings me great pleasure to think that you might be presented with the opportunity to comically leap over the net after a tennis match, or to spike an american football into an official or unofficial end zone.
May you one day take a drag off of your cigarette, looking off into the middle distance, and then realize something very important, which causes you to take off your glasses suddenly, then you take a final quick drag of your cigarette and sort of shake it and go "that's it!" or "yeah!" or something like that, and then you throw the cigarette down and stride purposefully away.
I wish for you to take in the sight of a sprawling vista, just standing there, arms akimbo, legs shoulder-width apart, and perhaps to bellow in a manner not inconsistent with that of Early Man, or Woman, or whatever Early Gender you might choose.
I hope you get to run down the steps to the subway, hearing the train arrive even as you bobble down the hard stairs, and you make it through the doors just in time, securing a seat on the end of the bench so you can't be sandwiched by humans; and further that as you feel the conditioned air (hot or cold, depending on the season) wash over you and you shudder a little, you are afforded the luxury of watching someone else run towards the train and not make it on in time, and your schadenfreude kicks in, and maybe the person who didn't make it is someone who looks differently than you like people to look, or maybe it's even someone you actually know and don't like, and you get the singular pleasure of shrugging slightly at them, sort of a "too bad for you" face, and they get really mad and maybe yell and point at you or pound on the door, but are ultimately left freezing or sweating on the platform as you glide away in your magic carriage into the dark.