An active fantasy life

I have deadlines. Once the most urgent of those are met, I want to reward myself. And the object of my desire is, of all things, a day of pampering in Williamsburg. I want a haute hipster haircut. Long hair (or as long as it is, which is shoulder-length, minus a trim) with bangs. I want the bangs to have at least begun somewhere not in New Jersey - I can maintain them here in one way or another. What I have now is starting to look very much like the non-haircut I had in high school. What I want is, apparently, to look like Anna Karina in her prime. But not 1960s costumey. This, but without the beehive-type pouf in the back.

(There's this part of me that's like, you know how exactly you want these bangs, you have scissors, what's the problem? That I'm not going ahead with that tells me that I have finally reached the brain-has-fully-developed, impulsiveness-free stage of adulthood.)

Next, I want to look at the "apothecary" in the salon in question and maybe even buy some nail polish.

I then want to sit in a coffee shop and be insulted by a barista before sitting down with my laptop and working on the deadlines that remain. The coffee will be city coffee, and better than what I can get here. Some kind of dense-foam drink (a flat white? a cortado?). A pastry "sourced" from somewhere really precious wouldn't hurt, either.

This is my great dream. I think about it as many times a day as the proverbial 19-year-old guy thinks about sex. But because it involves a drive to a train to a second train to a subway to a second subway, and then the same thing once more, it keeps getting postponed. Work gets in the way, as does weather. But the first possible day, it's on.