I love what I do. I love my life. I love my job(s).

I told that to my cousin yesterday. I love what I do. I love my life. I love my job(s).

And then last night—this morning, actually; I've just awoken and I'm still half in dreamworld—I had the most horrific dream.

Something had happened with my dream job(s) and I had gone back to work at the accounting firm to which I formerly gave 13 years of my life. Everything was the same, but different. The department manager (who used to be me) was humorless, all business, brand new. Many of my coworkers had changed. I kept getting called into meetings and being asked to do things that made no sense. I was on the verge of tears, of breakdown. Why had I gone back to this place? What had happened to the life that I loved?

I was so grateful to awaken and realize it was all a dream. But I'm still kind of sleepnumb. The dream was that exhausting, that draining (although it really doesn't sound that way from my recount). I guess it was just the idea of finally achieving a career that I want and then having to give it up, without warning, without reason.

So yes, I can say it, and say it proudly: I love my job. I love what I do.

Thank you for reading and making music and playing shows and letting me live this life.

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