Crossroads are annoying little bitches, sometimes. You don't know if you're going the right way, and the only way you can find out is if you take the damn avenue - and even then, you probably wouldn't be in your own perfect path anyway.
But that's the thing. You have to take them, whether you want to or not (although you mostly often don't; you rarely get chances to choose exactly what your heart tells you to choose, either because you're an idiot or because everything looks enticing, and these two situations always happen).
At the very least, I am on the last legs of my stay here in this sleepy city that remains to be one of the most beautiful I've seen, although I wouldn't want to live here. In eleven days, November rears in its ugly face, and from then, it's two days to my dad's birthday, thirteen to the near-death anniversary of the crash brothers Obi and Martin.
And the day after that, I go home.
Home. It sounds like a Star Wars introduction. A galaxy far, far away.
Yesterday was the last day of editing. The dregs of all the shittiest writers the world could ever push my way has been processed through my majick hands of healing, and as I finished cleaning up the last damned word of that godforsaken set of documents, I could feel my mind breathing a sigh of relief.
Next week, I start working with a new team. And I am not without my apprehensions. I don't know if I'm up to the tasks and the toxicity of the post. It's like I've actually learned to doubt my own abilities, whereas a year ago exactly, the only thing I ever doubted was the veracity of Jessica Zafra's existence (which has, unfortunately, been proven). These guys (my department heads) are thrusting me into unknown territory, and the only thing that's keeping me from running scared is my huge ego. Granted, I was technically tossing myself into the jungle when I decided to take the CdO post last October, but I foraged on like a crazed guerrilla on steroids. Now, I'm not so surefooted.
Dang, really. The October-November cusp seems to host a lot of gut-wrenching twists of fate for me. Fortunately, I have alcohol and my pigheadedness to keep me from tapping out. Might not be much to go on with, but it's more than enough to keep me smiling.
Somebody is mad at me. I don't know if that person will be reading this; if this is the case, then I'd like to beg for forgiveness. You know who you are; I can't bear having disagreements with you, so drop me a message when you can. Radio silence is going to be the death of me.
But that's the thing. You have to take them, whether you want to or not (although you mostly often don't; you rarely get chances to choose exactly what your heart tells you to choose, either because you're an idiot or because everything looks enticing, and these two situations always happen).
At the very least, I am on the last legs of my stay here in this sleepy city that remains to be one of the most beautiful I've seen, although I wouldn't want to live here. In eleven days, November rears in its ugly face, and from then, it's two days to my dad's birthday, thirteen to the near-death anniversary of the crash brothers Obi and Martin.
And the day after that, I go home.
Home. It sounds like a Star Wars introduction. A galaxy far, far away.
Yesterday was the last day of editing. The dregs of all the shittiest writers the world could ever push my way has been processed through my majick hands of healing, and as I finished cleaning up the last damned word of that godforsaken set of documents, I could feel my mind breathing a sigh of relief.
Next week, I start working with a new team. And I am not without my apprehensions. I don't know if I'm up to the tasks and the toxicity of the post. It's like I've actually learned to doubt my own abilities, whereas a year ago exactly, the only thing I ever doubted was the veracity of Jessica Zafra's existence (which has, unfortunately, been proven). These guys (my department heads) are thrusting me into unknown territory, and the only thing that's keeping me from running scared is my huge ego. Granted, I was technically tossing myself into the jungle when I decided to take the CdO post last October, but I foraged on like a crazed guerrilla on steroids. Now, I'm not so surefooted.
Dang, really. The October-November cusp seems to host a lot of gut-wrenching twists of fate for me. Fortunately, I have alcohol and my pigheadedness to keep me from tapping out. Might not be much to go on with, but it's more than enough to keep me smiling.
Somebody is mad at me. I don't know if that person will be reading this; if this is the case, then I'd like to beg for forgiveness. You know who you are; I can't bear having disagreements with you, so drop me a message when you can. Radio silence is going to be the death of me.