Should've gone with my gut.

As a wee child, I dreamed of growing up to be a marine biologist. A MARINE BIOLOGIST.

Seriously.

It was going to be magical. What with all the swimming with dolphins and feeding of sea lions and taming of Orcas. Because that's what I truly believed marine biologists did - entertain marine life.

And of course I thought I could just go ahead and do it right here in my own town, on our own river. That's where all the marine life was, anyway. That and Sea World.

Silly me.

I took a biology course in tenth grade and all-too-quickly realized I'd rather be dead than choose a career with any sort of semblance of "biology" in its title. Talk about crushing the hopes and dreams of a child.

What? You mean, I don't get to wear nylon suits and rub noses with manatees? Shit.

And so I took up this nasty habit of writing, because I could do it naturally. And I'm all about picking up habits that take little to no effort. Some might argue I lack motivation and imagination. I say screw you.

I wrote stories for English class, wrote for the high school newspaper, dreamed of the novel I would write, because that's what people who can write do, right?

I want to write! Wheee! Look! I have dreams!

Somebody should've hit me. At least marine biologists make money.

Eventually I learned of my limited options as a writer, and swiftly graduated with a degree in journalism. And now I tremble on the poverty line as I write mediocre newspaper articles about our city running out of road salt.

Blink. Blink-blink.

That does not take talent. It takes the ability to form sentences, and ask the right questions. It sort of wears on a person's self-worth. Why don't I have a job I am passionate about? I have more passion about this blog than I do about regular coverage of common council meetings.

Hell, I'm more passionate about this blog than I am about 32 percent of my life, but that is neither here nor there.

So here I sit. Trembling not only on the poverty line, but also the line that determines my self-worth. I'm pretty sure a very small majority of us perform their jobs with a passion, and holy crap, that's sad.

Is this what we have to do for the rest of our lives? Work mediocre jobs to pay bills while our actual passions go to waste? Can I just blog for a living? Or run? And who will pay me?

Please entertain this thought and get back to me.