Funny how as I enter work on a rainy Sunday morning like today and walk past the dreary gray cubicles and contemplate the tattered remains of holiday decorations past that stream from the ceiling, my mind does a big 180. I suddenly find all sorts of reasons to pursue the activities I wrote off as futile in the comfort of my pajamas and morning coffee on my day off.

My cellmate/cubicle neighbor talked about how his wife sometimes did booking for Andretti Racing, and how he had gotten to sit in the luxury boxes, or even trackside, with millionaires from the Forumula One racing world. He talked about how the world of people who sailed on yachts wasn't in a parallel universe, it was a real place he had visisted, and no one had acted as if he were an interloper. So, having seen that, it's hard to not believe you could be part of it on a more permanent basis.

I've had that same feeling talking to Atlanta radio personalities or interviewing rock n' roll musicians. There they were, just a few feet away, carrying on a conversation with me. We breathed the same air, spoke the same language. What's keeping me from being more than a visitor to that world?

So maybe I gather up some writing samples and send them to a rock music Web site. Okay, so maybe it doesn't pay much, but it's better than just looking at the snowflake decorations from Christmas 2007 dangling off the ceiling at the Fitzsimmons call center, right? Would I not be better served to maybe interact with someone at Creative Loafing again than to just aimlessly wander the aisles at Best Buy? Maybe it could all lead to something, and at the very worst, when I returned to my drab cubicle and ball-and-chain/headset I would know I had walked on the other side for a little while.

Maybe this is called "bi-polar disorder."