I'm sitting here at my dream job writing about dreams. Cruel Irony kicks me in the sack again.

Seriously, you ever watch one of those award shows and when one of those people wins an award they say, "It's just so amazing to be paid to do what you love"? Don't you you want to kick them in their shiny, capped teeth? I do, but I'm bitter.

I'd love to get paid for what I love to do. But no one pays people to bitch, complain about things and be depressed. Well, I guess that describes most critics, but they never say they love their jobs.

I guess that is what separates most of us from the hollywood types. Or athletes. Or anyone with a job they like.

It may be more prevalent than we know. It's a little boring to say you love your job. You are supposed to hate it. Especially if it's a job that isn't glamorous or exciting. I mean, I could see a truck driver loving his or her job. Open road, relative freedom, decent pay. Maybe there are factory workers who enjoy what they do. They like knowing what their job is and like the company they work for.

I want to love my job. I don't need to be paid like a movie star to love it. Just a little satisfaction, enough money to pay my bills and take care of my kids, some room to be creative.

They say you have to know what you love to be able to have a dream job. What do I love? Well, I love to write, I love to read. I love interacting with people at work. I like helping people. Hell, I've been here 8 hours today and I've given customers free repairs on things I'm supposed to charge for. I like to help people. I'm not going to charge an old guy 35 bucks to reprogram his phone when it costs me nothing to punch in the 4 numbers it takes to do it. Another guy had a broken clip on his case and I knew we had one in the back on a trade in phone and I just gave it to him. Sure, I could have sold him one for $10, but why? If it were my business, I'd do it exactly the same way. Money isn't everything, just helping people sometimes is the best business.

Anyways, back to my dream job. Fuck if I know what it is! I guess I've always dreamed of being a magazine writer. Traveling, talking to people, writing about things people don't always write about. I'd like to go around and do stories about people who are just everyday people. You ever notice that everyone you meet has some interesting story in their past? Whether it's about them, or their family or some history. I'd like to do stories about people who get up everyday and do what they have to do. They work for a living, pay for their kids, etc. Or a stay at home mom who just wants her kids to remember having their mom around when they were young. Sure, it's not Paris Hilton or paedophiles, but this world needs more positive stories. I know it sounds like something out of Parade magazing, but I'm thinking a little edgier. Like my old biker friend who was my spiritual guru for a while. They guy lead a life that put the Hell's Angels to shame. Now, he's just a good, kind, caring dude who'd give you the shirt off his back.
Or a girl I know who is a stripper, I'm sorry, exotic dancer. She's a early thirties mom who has three boys. She got married the wrong guy, had kids too early and got in to dancing to make money. She's a great person. Some might judge her but she gives her boys a good life. She loves them more than life itself. Or even someone like my S.O. She has put up with me and my issues for over 16 years now and she still loves me. It's not fairy tale love, but it's two people bonded by life and love and kids.

I am dreaming now. It's probably just a side effect of the effexor withdrawal.

Those are some science fiction stories I could write. The dreams I have going through this long, miserable withdrawal would freak your asses out!!! Maybe I'll put together a blow with just the freaky dreams.

Venaflaxine Dreamin'

The blog.