One un-job, please.

I suppose I would like to have a real job, but I figure that this carries with it the very REAL risk that I may be forced to do real work.

When I am forced to do work, I become agitated, irritable... like some silver-backed Gorrilla... but less grey... and much smaller. I sort of furrow my brow, grunt to myself, and in lieu of pounding my chest, I sort of clunk office supplies around, or handle other work-related objects gruffly. I'm fairly sure I'm much too old to be having temper tantrums, but for some reason, this doesn't stop me. In my old age, I have mastered the art of making sure I'm the only one who knows I'm having a temper tantrum.

So I started to wonder what my dream job would be. Get paid, do no work... Found out that it's nearly impossible to contemplate anymore. The adult mind levels too many practical considerations against real imagination. Best I could do? Writer. I would like to be paid to sit in a room typing my opinions of things all day. No matter how great this sounds, though, there's got to be something even better. Writing is, afterall, an arduous task, and there was a time in my life that I said I wanted to be a belly dancer (more exactly, "boobie dancer," but I was three, and MEANT belly dancer).

Where has that ambition gone? Why can't I be a belly dancer? Bad knees? Smoker's cough? Maybe just lack of imagination. Whatever happened to suspension of disbelief?

So let's have it folks: What is your dream job? And not just the best one you're qualified to have. I'm talkin' boobie dancin'.