I'm thinking that around eleven hundred dozen thoughts

must already have been in my mind and gone away and I never had one chance to really mull them over. Well, maybe a chance, or two, but the days have again blurred into so many yesterdays and I'm left with nothing to reign them in with. The world I know has been--and still is--afloat with five, six figures preceded by dollar signs, percentages, goals to be reached, action plans to put into action, a team to lead, differences to neutralize.

Numbers, numbers, more numbers. This is one of the great ironies of my life. When I was in school, I hated my Math classes to the core, but look what I have become now: an employee in a bank, munching on numbers for lunch.

But anyway, on my ride home today, I found myself grinning like a fool while in my head I danced to some cheesy 90's song from some juvenile girl band. It's been a recurring daydream, really, and it tickles my funny bones to no end, the fact that I get so much entertainment from watching myself performing, on stage, some really basic, corny, girly steps. And then the scene shifts to another dream sequence where I am Shania Twain and her "That Don't Impress Me Much" video is really my video and I'm wearing that leopard print outfit and I have red hair and I'm rolling my eyes at the rocket scientist, the guy with the hair kept in place by so much extra-hold gel and the guy who's really Brad Pitt. And I'm singing, of course. And then there's a shift again and it's still the same song but I'm singing it live, in front of an audience made up of the folks at work and I'm still wearing the same outfit and rolling my eyes.

Hmm. Whaddya say, could it be that in the deepest recesses of my subconscious, I have some delusional hope that I could become famous? The word is delusional. But, hey, we all have to take a break from our own daily grinds, right?

After all, it's really the light, seemingly silly things that help us get by.