[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]ou lack ambition,” a past girlfriend once told me. “You’re dragging me down.”

Huh? I didn’t know what the girl was talking about. What could be more ambitious than spending eleven whole years in junior college?

“And buy a new truck,” she said. “That thing’s hideous.” Then she shut the door and bid me goodnight.

My truck? That thing was a classic. With two hundred eighty thousand miles on the odometer and a bumper made from a two-by-four, it was a rusty charm-wagon.

But, she had a point. Compared to some people, I didn’t have the ambition God gave a lap dog. I wish I could tell you I’m more ambitious nowadays, but I’m not. I don’t want to climb to the next level – whatever that means – I’m not even sure I like the level I’m at now. In fact, I prefer to be a few notches lower.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t care; I do. I have life-aspirations. They just look bad on paper.

Here’s one: I like chocolate cake donuts. Right this moment, I aspire to eat two, with coffee. Afterward, I aspire to take an emergency blood sugar nap. When I awaken, I aspire to watch Casablanca for the eight-thousandth time, and think about filing another extension on my taxes. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon.

Later tonight, maybe I will aspire to take my hideous truck to the beach, maybe do some fishing and watch a sunset.

I know this kind of ambition doesn’t really count.

But I can promise you, it’s more fun than junior college.