Writer? Interior Decorator?...

Do you ever wonder what you would do if you didn't do what you did? (How's that for one really confusing sentence.) I love my job - it gives me a sense of purpose, a feeling of satisfaction that I've really made a difference, and a whole mess of vacation days. I'm totally content and happy with where I am right now.

That said, I still like to dream sometimes about what I would do or who I would be if I wasn't working for Special Olympics Indiana. Since I was in middle school, I've always wanted to be a writer. Truth be told, I still want to. Turns out, that's a bit easier said than done. I've got lots of great ideas and opening pages - turning those thoughts and scraps of stories into a cohesive piece is a bit trickier. I love to read, which is one of the prerequisites to writing. If reading alone made one qualified to be an author, then consider me the next JK Rowling! Perhaps I could be a professional reader...?

I had a concentration in Creative Writing in college - I loved going to those classes. They were always at night, always in Ballentine Hall, and I always stuck out like a sore thumb. I didn't wear ankle bracelets with bells on them, I didn't suck down cigarettes before class, and I didn't write about ghosts/drug trips/vampires. I realize that is a vast stereotype of writers, but, 99% of my peers in my writing classes fit into one of those of molds. I think a lot of my classmates had an idea of how a writer was supposed to behave and a naive, wide eyed optimist from Tipton didn't quite fit the bill. I always felt a bit like a fish out of water in those classes, but I dug them just the same. It was fun to be around people so different from my normal group of friends. I need to make myself write more - it's something I love doing, but never seem to have the time and/or discipline to do.

When I'm not dreaming up the author picture for my New York Times best seller, I fancy myself an interior decorator. There are few things I like more than strolling the home sections of Target or Homegoods. Picture frames, bathroom rugs, candles, decorative clocks - love them all. Whenever I move to a new place, I don't stop unpacking and "nesting" until I have all my picture frames set out, my books lined on a shelf, and my jewelry displayed on my dresser. I don't feel at home or settled until I'm surrounded by the things I love. I think there is something very comforting about designing a room that makes you feel content when you enter. I love laying in bed at night and looking at pictures from vacations,remembering my trip to the tango bar in Argentina, or looking at the boat my grandpa made me and thinking of sitting beside him at the bar in his kitchen, his giant size 14 feet pointed out, while he painstakingly painted his latest model.

Someday, when I have a house that is all my own, I will decorate EXACTLY as I want. I want a yellow kitchen with polka dot dishes and cheery curtains to frame the window above my sink; my bathroom will be an oceany blue with a soft fluffy white rug to set outside my big tub; I want a porch with a porch swing, and a cozy library with a fireplace and floor to ceiling bookshelves. I'll blow up a picture of Cabin 16 at Lochaven Lodge and hang it over the fireplace and drift away to Canada whenever I need a stress reliever. I want my house to be the kind of place where people hang out in the (yellow) kitchen and feel cozy. It won't be immaculate, but it will be warm and inviting. Take your shoes off, or keep them on. It doesn't matter to me. Throw your purse on the floor, and pull up a chair.

Who knows...maybe that house will have a nook in the attic that would be just perfect for a desk and a computer. You know, the type of place a gal could do some serious writing in...