When you are a kid, people ask you all the time what you want to be when you grow up. We answer "a baseball player, an astronaut etc.". When you're a bit older they still ask and you answer "a rock star" as you'd like to have sex with good looking people and be able to afford good drugs. As you enter college you answer "own my own business" as you'd like to have a trophy wife and lots of money and again afford good drugs.
After that they quit asking, as it appears you are well on your way to being a shift manager at the 7-11. But you are so used to the question that you don't stop asking it of yourself.
Okay you think, obviously I'm not a CEO, I"ll simply marry well and I can still retire by 35. Hmmm. I suppose these dreams of grandeur continue on through your life until the end. I guess that explains the 70 year old guy in line at the store with his thirty medications from the pharmacy to keep him alive, who asks for five lottery tickets. Because, he could still "hit it big".
Of course this preamble was merely a means to talk about my own current answer to the eternal question. Although these days its more like "when WILL you grow up?". But anyway.
I now fancy myself as a writer someday. God knows, I have questionable skills to say the least, but it is what I enjoy doing the most of all things. I can certainly fill pages with nonsense with the best of them! If I could apply myself for several years to learning the craft, well, who knows?
But with me there always a rub. I could learn to write the sort of book that millions of neglected soccer mom's purchase a paperback of at the grocery store. You know, a Fabio drawing on the front, a lead character named Canyon or something, who as well being rich and rippling with muscles, still in his spare time saves baby seals from being clubbed by evil rich oil corporations.
And of course at approximately page 115, his engorged, throbbing member would plunge to COMPLETELY fill her warm, damp, longing, yet empty void, as no man ever had before...four times.
But alas no. Because of course that might actually work. No, instead I see still with that same foresight that has steered my cart right into the guardrail so often in my life. I wish to write historical biographies and essays. Okay, you say, that's not too bad. A biography of Kennedy or Castro or...No, that too might sell. My writing would be about the founding years of this country. Titles like, "Thomas Paine: visionary or drunken idiot?".
At any rate, my vision is that in twenty years, I'll do this for a living while living in a house on a beach. Of course, with an office to write in overlooking the ocean with my trusty canine companion. I'll appear on the back of the book jacket wearing a leather coat, smoking a pipe, on that same beach with the previously mentioned canine. ehhh. or more likely...
"Yeah I'll have five lottery tickets as well, please".