Hey, Where's the Cream Filling?

I’m a person of very decisive, stubborn constitution. I decided in 3rd grade that I wanted to be a creative writer, and until my last year of college, I was happy to live in a dream world of metaphors, imagery, and shiny things, much like Nicole Richie’s happy world that she describes as “la la loooooo.”

My education happened in classrooms where professors said things like, “These rows of desks are stifling my creativity” and “Close your eyes and try to imagine the smell of the pestilence in Eliot’s Waste Land.” Unfortunately, there aren’t many careers open to those who can reign triumphant every night in Wheel of Fortune, quote centuries worth of our language’s finest literature, develop engaging plots and characters, and tell you why we have words with silent letters.

In my perfect world, where all careers are equal, I’d have a job like Crayola color namer, Twinkie filler, or storm chaser without making any changes to my current paycheck. However, for now, the world is not under my jurisdiction, so we all have to have sensible careers that pay the bills. My former imaginative and sometimes-whimsical self is now stuck at a desk working in budgeting doing the practical thing. Every so often, the confinement of a cube becomes almost overwhelming. Imagine how it feels to be only yea big and not be about the see anyone over the walls or see out. You start to lose your sense of being. I’m like a canary, I at least need to have something reflective in my cage, excuse me, cube, so I can verify I’m still there; so I stole a windowed cube panel from someone else to be able to reflect some light and look at myself.

I’m not sure if it’s reassuring or depressing that I’m not alone in opting for a career in the realm of practicality over fun. Instead of owning a software development company, my dad would be much happier as our local Tastycake deliveryman where he could get a discount on delicious Tastycake treats and make friends with every 7-11 worker in Fairfax County. I guess practicality eventually overrules the “la la loooooo” in my family.

In a blatant rip off of M’s blog shtick, I ask you, why not put aside our notions of what is a sensible way to make a living and think of how we’d most enjoy spending 40-plus hours a week (without debt)? With a little thought, even the most asinine career plan can be practical. Now, stay with me here, as I will show you how to rationalize your own career move.

Before going into her first brain surgery, my mom entertained the idea that she may lose important information in her memory bank. She told us to ask her one important question when she was in recovery, “Susan, do you still think zebras are super-cool?” If she answered in the affirmative, everything was in there. Since she answered yes, and still thinks zebras are super-cool, I figure we could talk my mom into making Zebra Cakes at Little Debbie. This opens the door to my dream of Twinkie-filling and the Tastycakes dancing in my dad’s head. With all three of us living the dream, there would be a diversified Vandersluis empire within the cream-filled snack treat industry, which, in my book, creeps into the realm of practicality and eventual fortune. Never underestimate a girl with a dream.