Rather than tell you about the “Creative Dynamic” workshop this weekend, my words will speak for themselves. Here’s what I wrote at the end of it all:
My man wakes me in the morning, spooning me from behind. He makes love to me, holding my face in his hands. We laugh at his wish: to stay in bed, doing nothing but pillow-talk. And so we do. I get up later, write my column while he works on his own art. Together we share an office and create a home. After a while, we wander through Ft. Tryon Park, making-out often and enjoying our Mr. Softees. We head back to bed.
Awake again, he starts dinner while I meditate and do my “self-help Sunday” stuff. We eat Indian food and I clean-up as he reads on the couch. Stevie Wonder serenades softly in the background. Sensing I’m excited about my workshop tomorrow, he rubs my feet. He’s so proud of me and I know it. Getting ready for bed, I skip the sweats and slip into something a little more sexy. We’re in this together after all.
We sip strong coffee in the morning and chat about our dreams. Grabbing my hot new handbag, I kiss him on the forehead. He says, “Knock ‘em alive,” as I stroll out the door. From over my own rainbow, I sing, “dreams really do come true” and get my ass on the A.
May your own desires become as crystal clear!
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