What if?
This morning I had breakfast with an old friend, and then I had lunch with George Nemeth, who I've "known" for about five years but never actually met in the flesh until today. They're very different people, but it's funny...they both told me the same things.
So somewhere between West 25th and West 117th, a voice spoke to me. It wasn't quite the same voice as the one that said, "I sure do hate my life" on the night my New Jersey life fell apart. It wasn't quite the same one that woke me in the middle of the night to tell me not to take the job at the Queens Library, and take the one at Facts on File instead. But it was similar. It said:
"What if you stopped looking for a 'real job' and became a writer?"
Well, what if?
So somewhere between West 25th and West 117th, a voice spoke to me. It wasn't quite the same voice as the one that said, "I sure do hate my life" on the night my New Jersey life fell apart. It wasn't quite the same one that woke me in the middle of the night to tell me not to take the job at the Queens Library, and take the one at Facts on File instead. But it was similar. It said:
"What if you stopped looking for a 'real job' and became a writer?"
Well, what if?
posted by Christine Borne at 5:48 PM
3 Comments:
You'd probably be a lot happier. OH NO THE STING OF JOY IN YOUR EYES.
Quit Rickrolling me with your threats of happiness, Cookbook.
Interesting.
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