In my dreams. Last night I dreamed that I was famous (the dream never specified why) and Tyra Banks was interviewing me in my home.
I lived in my current condo, but in the dream I owned it so it was decorated quite differently. The color scheme was based on the watercolor of Venice that my uncle painted for me: brick red, blue, and gold, with dark wood finishes. I had a rocking chair with one of those ottomans that rocks with the chair (I told Tyra it may be a little grandma-ish, but it relaxes me and I've always wanted one). I had a huge flat screne TV and a surround sound system from Bose. I lived there alone. Almost. There was a cat named Manhattan, which is my first choice name for a daughter someday. Not sure why I had a cat since I have no desire to ever own a pet of any kind. My apartment was also spotless, which was probably the most unrealistic part of the dream.
As I showed Tyra around my condo, I told her what a typical day is like for me. This included going to work at the treatment center for women with eating disorders, which impressed Tyra, of course, since the subject is so close to Tyra's heart, as she is a mentor of would-be models the world across (sarcasm here, if that's not clear). Then I told her about the chamber music ensemble I sing with (I don't actually sing with a group, though I often wish I did). I had to show her the vases I made in my pottery class (again, something I've always wanted to do). I glossed over the suject of my writing (I was working on my second novel) and then woke up.
Strangely, my dream, in which I had most of my superficial desires and a few of the deeper ones, made me feel like my life was worth getting out of bed for. Kinda made me want to buy my condo, too.