Today was my first day off in awhile. I’d been looking forward to it all week, planning on filling it with a healthy combination of doing nothing in exotic places (park, beach, pool) and doing lots of things in a short amount of time (clean apt, buy groceries, bake cupcakes). Instead, I woke up at 11, went out to breakfast, (pumpkin pancakes, mmm), and promptly came home and slept the rest of the day.

I’m awake now, and talking to a friend back East who is trying to get a job as a sports writer. He is brilliant, funny, an excellent writer, and very insightful—he’s beating out all the other applicants and getting interviews at top places. But everything sort of falls through—nothing is a perfect match. This saddens me. I want him to be happy and get a job, and I know he will. But man, following dreams is hard. Good thing I don’t have any, really. I just want to never have to have a real job and get paid to sit at home and write some things. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.