The Bunnies of Enlightenment

Last night, as I was falling asleep, an incredible bit of insight hit me like a anvil on the head. You see, I’ve been on a quixotic quest lately to find my path in life. It turns out that spending forty hours a week in quiet desperation in order support a cushy yuppie lifestyle just isn’t doing it for me anymore. Weird, I know – I make it sound so good. I mean, I love five-dollar lattes, sushi nights and Anne Taylor sweaters as much as the next girl, but the price was getting too steep. Plus, it was all starting to feel a lot like a consolation prize for the daily suffering.

So it’s time to seek something better. But I don’t just want slightly better. I don’t just want a 10% reduction in banging my head on the keyboard and 20% increase of my DSW budget. No no. I want meaning, purpose, and all that gay shit. I want to see rainbows and sunbeams as I hop, skip and jump on my way to work, holding a briefcase. I want bunnies and deer to run through traffic to eat out of my hands while choirs of angels sing Hallelujah. I want to live the dream, dammit!

There was only one roadblock on my way to bunny-filled bliss. I had no idea what job could actually make me happy. What office building would keep a petting zoo in its lobby, a security guard watching for my approach over the security camera and then mouthing “Release the bunnies” over the walkie-talkie? And more to the point, what do I actually like enough to keep doing it day in and day out? Conventional wisdom says to do what you love, but what if all you love is doing the crossword, browsing through blogs, lurking in online discussion forums, and mounting the glorious high horse of advice columns?

And this is when it hit me. Are you ready for this?

I love the Washington Post.

I live and breathe the Washington Post. I would marry the Washington Post and have little Lux Posties babies. The Washington Post has been staring me in the face from my computer screen for years now. Seriously, it doesn’t get any more obvious than this. This is my Eureka moment. I’ve got the answer, people.

Now be vewy vewy quiet. Here come those wabbits.