1. If I decide to be a stripper instead, I’ll be allocated to the daytime shift. Since I have small boobs and a C-section scar, I won’t qualify for primetime. I’ll have to work during the lunch buffet, while business men gorge on all-you-can eat roast beef. Not only will I suffer the humiliation of being a stripper, I’ll have to deal with men who patronize strip clubs during the day.
2. Every time I consider quitting, encouraging words come through from an industry professional. It’s a strange phenomenon.
3. I’ve been at this almost six years without turning a profit. Some folks might see this as a reason to stop, but it just makes me want to dig my heels in. I have to be on the verge of a financial break-through, right? Such a massive time investment requires a few more years anyway.
4. I’m fairly certain I lost a Facebook friend over my Taylor Swift blog post. That’s the most amusing thing that’s happened to me in the last six months. It also means my writing affected someone on a visceral level, even if it was a bullshit blog post.
5. I’m too old to become a ballerina. I think. Maybe I’m not. I should really check into that. If I’m not too old, then I’m out of here.
Scapegoats and Sacred Cows 
If it makes you feel any better, I would totally come watch you strip on my lunch hour and wouldn’t even visit the buffet. That said, I do think you’re a great writer. Mix it up with some dancing, in whichever style you choose, but I still demand blogs, books and erotic haikus from you.
That does make me feel better, Austin. Thank you. And you can have all those things. How about flamenco?
I’m in love with you penni g. jones. I too will not eat roast beef. You are one awesome peep!
Oh Cid, your comment made me swoon. I love you, too.
Love this! As usual, you made me laugh.
Thanks, Lisa!