Woes of a working writer

I write for a living. It's a little like washing dishes at your favorite restaurant- it kills the fantasy. I know I am lucky and that the percentage of writers making a living from their craft is ridiculously low blah blah blah...but wait. Here is what you don't understand. I write about medical devices. Can you think of anything more boring? Not only is it incredibly dry stuff, I also get to feel stupid on a daily basis because I don't have the slightest understanding of what it is I am writing about. Here is what I mean (this is mild, I am not supposed to repeat the real meaty stuff):

"He remembered observing that the DC value of the impedance he was working on back in the late 1980s..."

To top it off, I also get to write about the work of the devil:

"The animal feasibility trials took awhile..."

This morning I woke up with just one wish in my heart: to stay home with Buddy and blog (and work on my weekly assignment, in case Ed is reading this). Is that too much to ask? Do I really need those new Coach shoes? Evidentially I do. If it weren’t for Captain and his war on squirrels, and Sidecar's inexplicable love of melted faux cheese, I would not get through the day. Thanks guys. Now, back to implantable hearts.