Sleeping in has never been easy for me, and a couple of days ago I proved there’s no cure for me. Free from any alarms or loud noises in the house, I should have been able to dream until 10 a.m., easy. Instead, I woke myself with a slap to the forehead, a subconscious impulse that told me in the most direct way that it was time for a move-on. Otherwise, it was an act of the divine with a very similar message.
It you had asked me two or three months ago what I was doing with my life, whether I had any free time and whether I could grab something to eat with you in the midst of my daily mayhem, I would have been tempted to strike you. Ok– not really, but I would have certainly heaved in a great gulp of air while slowly shaking my head, contemplating the easiest way to let you down, like “I really wish I could, but I’m slammed. I’m busier than I’ve ever been, with all the [insert usual task list].”
Things are presently different, whereas then I was praying for precious drops in a time drought, now I’m the one treading and fighting to keep my nose above the downpour. I no longer am an intern at Paste, which not only means that I’m not churning out x number of articles daily, but I also am not spending three hours in a day cutting through Atlanta traffic. A simple nine-to-five in town would still award me fifteen more hours of free-time every week. Right now I don’t know how to manage the excess, other than to tell myself that I’m a professional job hunter. My full-time job is to find work for myself.
No, it’s not a cop-out. It’s what helps me tame my impatience when I’m not getting callbacks. It’s pastoral, a reminder to enjoy where I am without getting too comfortable, and a promise to myself that I will one day do what I’m supposed to be doing.
Does that sound too vague? Yeah, it does. It’s all I have for now.
