's funny. I've been thinking for quite a while about re-starting this thing, this journal, this place which sometimes feels like a shiny mostly-real green space, and sometimes feels like an overgrown back yard in which lie half-concealed tires and a dead kitten or two beneath the thorns and shards....
....but there's just so much to talk about that I'm a little daunted by what to say.
Which is making my brain stutter.
So. I guess there's nothing to it but to start to write, eh?
I guess I need to write about my job, about my car, about my suspected brain tumor (which finally turned out not to be), about my theatre, about my feelings and dark corners and emotional chandeliers....so, a little at a time, I'll try to forge it out.
I guess, to start: I got employed last year (after 7 months of unemployment), and my feeling about that is the very model of schizophrenic passive-aggression....or at least ambivalent ennui. I'm well-paid again, and although my first boss here was certifiably insane, my current boss is a gentleman.
But I'm also in a career I hate in an industry I despise, and at which I'm just not that good....making me a fraud waiting to be discovered. Or at least that's how it feels.
I realized last year that I'm most definitely not one of those whose very being is imbued with their job, who define who they are by what they do. But I'm also one who did not like the feeling of being unemployed and therefore less of a man.
I know, I know, that's just not the case...but my guts thought so.
So now that I'm employed, why do I so miss the days spent riding my bike and cooking good meals and lying in the grass at noon?