Clean, Crisp, White, Comfy

When I knew I was moving to New York without a job, but enough money to sustain for at least a month, I dreamed of just writing all day. Sitting in my apartment, sitting in coffee shops, typing away, pouring my memories of the last year into a memoir. I lusted after that vision, wanted so badly for that to be what I was able to do once I arrived. Of course it didn't work about that, unstructured days turned into lazy ones, spent on the couch, my typing doing little more than entering email address and sending off resumes. Which, of course was necessary, but I didn't write.
Now I'm lusting after that vision again. Now that I'm working, planning, filling my days with structure again, I want to go back to the dream I didn't fulfill. Here's how it plays out in my head.
I want to clean my whole apartment, really scrub it clean. Get under the couch, pick up all the little things that are left in odd places on the floors and shelves. I want to feel dirty with my apartment clean. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Then I'll shower, a long hot shower.
I'll wrap my wet hair up and put on comfortable clothes, my bathrobe on top. I'll pump up the A/C, then shut the bedroom door, pull the blinds to the top and climb into my double comforter bed with my little laptop. I'll spend the day there, a tray of drink and food next to me, my phone on my bedside table, and I'll write.