Those day dreams

I have a new pattern, at work. Not a very funny one. Somehow, my cash register always seem to diff. How is that possible? Some days, it's - nine crowns, the next it's 110 and the next it's 920. Thanks to my new pattern I now break out in sweat every time before it's time to count the register and I pray to God or Allah or Hobbes or Kant (forget our difficulties in the past, I didn't mean those things I said before) that it will match.
I shouldn't be dealing with this. I should be sitting in a sofa somewhere in Washington or NYC, next to Kofi Annan or Bai Ki Moon and discuss The UN:s next move. That's what I should do, when I'm not giving interviews where I talk about how hard it is to be a succesful young fredsmäklare in a krigsdrabbad world. And when Nobel's fredspris is handed out, unfortunately I cannot närvara, because I'm in the middle of solving that thing in Uzbekistan, or is it Tadjikistan or Kosovo or whatever (edit those details). But I'm giving my thank you speech from a big screen in Oslo's rådhus and even if it's a blurry picture everyone can see that I'm very tanned and it just happens to be on a good hair day.
Yep. That's what I should be doing, no doubt.