08:33 - Thursday, Sept. 26, 2002
Over there
I just applied for a job that pays about 15,000 less than I should be making. I feel almost crazy. This is no way to save for a house or a wedding or a baby or anything. But perhaps it could be good? Perhaps taking a lower stress job would free up my creativity a bit-- encourage my health. So maybe the apartment with the view of the National Cathedral would have to go. Maybe we don't buy a house anytime soon. It might just be worth it if this place is sane. I know, I shouldn't hedge my bets on the sanity of a workplace. But there is a good chance her for some sanity and creativity. I'd be around artists and kids and really helping build community. And if rumors are true, I could be positioned well to eventually become either the Development Director or the Executive Director. And from what I have seen of this place, I would really like that. I think this one is going to be left up to the universe. I can't angle myself anymore.

Can't wrench my neck around that far anymore,

just to blow the smoke of success and accomplishment up my own ass,

just because the numbers look right.

Ms. Molly said sometimes you gotta pull over.

Like now.

The road I am on is a Triple-A mindfuck.

And my house is not on this road.

I am a rubber-necking traffic-jam-making ogler staring at what looks like the wreck of me all pinned against the guardrail, the twisted shoulders of me.

This is not the road my house is on.

Yeah man. I live way the fuck over there.

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