Starry Eyed Surprise
April 6, 2004

I’ve figured out where all my time goes. I’ve figured out what it is I love to do. I love to listen to endless music. I love to immerse myself in fantastical worlds -- in fiction books, anime, movies, or wherever. I love to sit around day dreaming. I like to imagine myself a great pianist, or the ruler of a nation, or popular, or the lonely keeper of amazing secrets.

So basically, I’ve figured out that I’m lazy. (And now that I know it, I may stop showering soon.)

On a serious note, while still holding fast to the notion that I’m the lost keystone of an ancient and forgotten civilization, there must be some way to capitalize on my tendency to daydream instead of doing work.

A host of job and career options come to mind, but I really need to be a billionaire -- and those jobs won’t help me get there.

In truth, I don’t actually want a billion dollars. That would be: one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million + one hundred million dollars. Even a single wad of one hundred million dollars would be nice. That is: one million + one million + one million… Well, you get the idea.

The thing is, I hear so many people wishing for a million dollars. You’re wishing people! Wish big, for heaven’s sake. The goddess of good fortune isn’t going to fault you accounting for inflation. Besides, she’s a goddess. She can do anything, so stop wishing for just one million dollars -- or the lottery. You’re only insulting her. Me? I’m wishing for a cool billion. (Heck, just one submersible yacht is going to eat up most of your first hundred million.)

Did I mention about the daydreaming? I’m afraid it’s true.

Listening to: “Starry Eyed Surprise,” by Paul Oakenfold . Bunkka.