>> 11 June 2012
I might not be satisfied with my job.
There I said it. It was said. Not satisfied. Rolling on words on my tongue. Savoring them like they were my first hit of coffee straight up in the morning. Satisfied, I may not be.
What was the first clue you might ask. Thank you. Thank you for asking.
The churning yearning, burning a hole in my gut. The constant need to flee. The panic, sheer unadulterated panic that has me rising from my bed and snapping at everyone and everything. Annoyed at being thwarted. Time and time and time yet again.
Maybe if I go away. A vacation. That's the ticket. Somewhere tropical, with warm sand, delightful, colorful drinks, never ending stories.
But then I have to come back. Don't I?
I should be grateful. In this economy. To have a job especially one that pays so well. Keeps me in fresh coffee. To have the freedom to create my own - well whatever I want. I'm lucky. So many others have so little.