Disrespectful Alarms

Today's prompt:

Perhaps it was a dream, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream where...

Perhaps it was a dream, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream where everything felt light.

She sat at the patio table, sunlight warming her shoulders as she watched the kids splashing in the pool, their laughter bouncing off the water. Her husband stood by the grill, music humming from the speaker beside him, a cigar resting between his fingers like he was auditioning for a commercial. The puppies curled at her feet, occasionally nudging her as if to say, “Don't forget about us.”

She opened her notebook, letting the pen glide across the page. A soft breeze carried the smell of charcoal, and she breathed it in like medicine. Days like this — slow, warm, unhurried — were her favorite. Family time always felt like a reset button for her soul.

Her mother stepped outside, smiling. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a vibration buzzed against the table.

Her eyes flew open. “Oh damn,” she groaned, slapping at the nightstand like she saw a mosquito. It was her phone. “That was a vivid dream.”

The phone kept at it, rude and relentless, like it had absolutely no respect for the peace she was enjoying in her head. She sat up, squinting at the ceiling. Another workday. Another morning of pretending she wasn’t betrayed by her own subconscious.

She swung her legs out of bed. “If this ice isn’t melted today, I’m filing a complaint with the universe.”

But for a moment, she stayed still, letting the warmth of the dream linger — the sun, the laughter, the ocean‑level peace — before stepping back into the real world.

Dreaming Big

First, let me say Happy New Year.  I hope 2025 did right by you and your 2026 is even better! Now, OMG!!!! I can't believe it's been this long since I've blogged.  

I decided to switch things up  — stretch my imagination a little, have some fun. Years ago, I bought a writing‑prompt book because I wanted to sharpen my storytelling skills. It’s been sitting on my shelf giving me the side‑eye ever since, so today I finally cracked it open.

The prompt starts like this:

“At first, we thought the black liquid was oil — that we’d struck it rich, that we’d finally be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was…”

So…..

If Jamie and I ever stumbled onto a fortune, we wouldn’t suddenly turn into those people buying gold‑plated toothbrushes or pet tigers. No, we’re realists. Practical dreamers. So our first move would be simple: wipe out any remaining debt — ours and our parents’.

Honestly, the idea of our parents living the rest of their lives without financial stress feels better than any yacht ever could. Plus, I don’t even know how to drive a yacht. Do you need a license? A tutorial? A YouTube video? I don’t have that kind of time.

Next up: investing. Not the flashy, “I day‑trade from my balcony in silk pajamas” kind. More like the “let’s make sure we can retire without eating beans out of a can” kind. Sensible, steady, grown‑up investing. The kind that whispers, “Relax, you’re good.”

Then comes the dream we’ve been carrying for years:
a beach home in Hawaii.

There is nothing — absolutely nothing — like sitting on a patio with the ocean breathing in front of you. The waves don’t just crash; they exhale. They do that slow, soothing “shhh” sound like they’re telling your worries to sit down somewhere. Jamie and I realized long ago that the ocean is our reset button. Our therapy. Our free mental health plan.

Of course, we wouldn’t forget our family — sisters, nieces, nephews, etc. Not in a “here’s a stack of cash, go wild” way, but in a “let us help you get where you’re trying to go” way. Support that lifts, not spoils. We’re generous, not reckless.

And because striking oil apparently comes with responsibilities, we’d need a team — accountants, advisors, people who understand how to manage wealth so it doesn’t manage you. Basically, adults who are more adult than us. Secure the bag, yes, but also secure the people who know what to do with the bag.

Then comes the fun part: travel.

Jamie and I are travelers in our souls. You already know we’d be out here collecting continents like Pokémon. Every country we can reach, every culture we can learn from, every food we can’t pronounce but will absolutely try — we’re there. Life is too big to stay in one place.

And finally, we’d give back. The communities that shaped us, the elders who paved the way, the children who deserve a future full of possibility. St. Jude would definitely be on that list — the work they do is nothing short of miraculous.

I could keep going, but I’ll stop here before I start planning a whole imaginary budget. It’s funny how a simple writing prompt can open the door to a whole universe of dreams. Maybe that’s the real treasure.