In another life, I would be a paper pusher. I would own a mug full of pencils, all sharpened perfectly. I would process papers, and each one would get a stamp, stamp, stamp of approval or rejection, and staples would go klunk, chunk, klunk. I’d work happily in a cube, drink too much bad coffee, and argue about who didn’t put enough in the office beverage fund jar.

I guess I’m glad to be me.

I really like stamps that go thump though.