Call it Humpday laziness, but I’m beginning to like having Wednesday as Crazy Hip Blog Mama Carnival Day: it releases the pressure of coming up with a topic for one day.  It’s a little like how I know that no matter what happens, Monday is Pasta Day and dinner is a no-brainer. 

There is a certain ease to knowing some things happen at certain times.

Today’s prompt is on Your Dream Job.

Oh boy.

______

I wrote a paragraph that included way too many italics and references to being a dashing lady of leisure.

I read it a couple of times and realized it sucked and it was unrealistic.  So I chucked it.  After all, it’s a dream job and not a weird Victorian dream that could pass for bad Masterpiece Theatre.

I want to write for a living and have people quote me and respect my work and think, "Wow, she is such a good writer and commentator on mores and rules and the social animal"

I don’t want to be hounded by paparazzi or sell out, but I do want to be invited to stuff like the Kennedy Honors and the Costume Institute gala (and I would never wear what Anne Heche wore that one year). 

I want to write for a few hours every day and produce pithy, important writings that grace the op-ed
pages or perhaps are collected into essays.  And when I write, I want to lift up my eyes and look at the beauty of a garden or at the vastness of an ocean.  Or both.  Yes.  Both: I could have more than one window in my writing room.  And sometimes I could even go out and write in coffeeshops, where people would recognize me but give me my space, because they would respect an artist at work. 

Hmm. 
That all sounds good.