A Little Magic

I was trudging up the stairs this morning - because the elevator STILL isn't fixed - and I got to thinking how it would be really great if I had a faithful manservant who would just carry me. Then I realized that any man big enough to actually pick me up probably wouldn't fit through a normal-sized door, so I abandoned that thought. Lifting one foot after the other, though, I hit on another great idea.
   I need to master the mystic arts. Then I could just magic myself up the stairs, no walking needed.
   As a matter of fact, if I were an adept enough student then I could just magic myself up a whole host of things that seem to be problems for me at the moment. I wouldn't need a job because I'd just conjure stacks of cash. I wouldn't need to go to the grocery store because I'd just wave my hand and make food appear. I'd wave the other hand to clean the dishes - no more dishwasher for me. I wouldn't have to pay rent, and I'd probably move out of my place to find my Sanctum Sanctorum at the top of some mountain or in a bubble at the bottom of the sea. Probably the mountain, the sea smells like a fish toilet to me.
   The one hitch to my plans is that these sorts of things usually happen with some great personal tragedy. Batman's parents were killed, Superman is the last survivor of an entire planet, a brilliant but arrogant surgeon loses the use of his hands in an auto accident, that kind of thing. I'm not really down with the whole idea of personal tragedy. I don't want to lose any parts or pieces that I've become fond of over the years.
   I'm an American, dammit, I want everything good without any risk or sacrifice! And I want it now!
   So rather than real magic, maybe I'll just settle for some douchebaggy trickery, camera tricks and bad illusions. Let me get some leather and ugly tattoos, some skanky ex-stripper chicks for eye candy and I'll be in business. Chris Angel, I'm coming for you...