Why Oh Why Couldn't I Be Obscenely Wealthy . . .

Not rich, but wealthy. Wealth implies a certain level of class that is lacking with the rich. That's what I want. Old money. The kind that requires a certain level of respect and awe, even though it's not always deserved.

This desire has been fueled lately by a growing irritation with my job and the stress that it causes. Yes, everyone has stress, and most of us have a job (sometimes several). And I don't mind working. In fact, I kind of like it. But the last few weeks have been exceptionally bad for me. This is not the result of extended hours or other such annoyances. In fact, I've been working shorter days (less than 9 hours) recently than I have been in quite a while.

It's the frenzied nature of work that is wearing me down. I was knocked flat on my arse a few weeks ago with what I assume was the flu. I started feeling bad late on a Sunday night, and by Monday morning, I was a shivering, stuffy-headed mess. Despite the fact that everyone knew I was sick, my cell phone rang non-stop with work-related questions. I eventually turned it off.

For the next 10 days, I came in to work with a lingering cough and runny nose. And it wasn't until I took an extended, 4-day holiday weekend that I finally started feeling better. That's why I'm counting down the hours until I get to escape from this place, and head out for camping in the George Washington National Forest with some friends.

That's also why I want to be wealthy. I want to be able to take off whenever I want and go to exotic locations around the world (and here in our great country). I want to go to Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain, Greece, and Portugal. I want to visit Egypt, Russia, and Australia. I want to take a fly-fishing trip with Ship to Patagonia. I want to take Pita to Morocco. I want to go on a Safari with Jo. And I wish that I was with Yogi in Zambia right now. And I really want to go visit my brother in Aspen whenever I feel like it.

More importantly, I want to feel like my presence here on Earth counts for something. Something significant. I would want to do humanitarian work of some description. I don't know if I have the "intestinal fortitude" to work in Darfur, but there are a lot of needy people out there, even in our own country. I think I would have to work with kids. I would be the chubby Angelina Jolie . . . taking in underprivileged children. But I don't think I would want to adopt them all. That seems kind of selfish. Maybe I could take in foster children to provide them with a stable environment until they could be adopted by a good family. I would make it my personal goal to keep siblings together. That would be my contribution to the world. So thirty years from now, a brother and sister could be having Christmas dinner together with their spouses and children, and they would know that it was all possible because I cared enough to make it my mission.

Sorry. I'm rambling today.

Have a great weekend.