What I Meant Was

Who wrote that last post? Not me. I mean, I did, at least cliché-me did. I wrote what my blog-self thought it should write. That’s what happens when I’m out of practice, or choose to blog from my inner semi-angst and not riff off articles, etc.

What I really should tell you about is the dream I had recently where I was trying out to be a nurse. In New Jersey. It was a great job and all and the hospital offered it to me. I accepted and in the back of my mind all I could think was, I’m not supposed to be here…I’m supposed to be in a newsroom…

Which was nice that my subconscious knows what it thinks I should be doing. It’s not like I was one of those people who grew up knowing what profession I would join, or that there were things like “professions.” All I knew is that my father came home every day at 6 o’clock in a suit, holding a briefcase, and that when I hit 20 years old, that is what I would do too. Call it a bit of gender confusion. At least, the suit bit.

I’m now 30, and I don’t own a briefcase. I don’t have a suit. Not even one of those crappy woman-suits. I have some nice tailored jackets, but nothing to write the office about.

Thank god.