Today I pretended that my on-vacation life is my real life. What if I didn't have to go to my soul-crushing brain-numbing job? What if I got to get up, watch Golden Girls and pick my nose for a couple of hours? What would I want to do when all the boogers were gone? The only answer I could come up with is that I'd like to be creative and I'd like to write.

Then the doubting thoughts come. Maybe I'm not good at writing? Maybe I'm no good at anything creative at all? But, ah fuck it, I finally thought. Nobody got anywhere thinking those kind of thoughts, I thought. And anyhoo, whoever decided that lack of talent should stop any artist.