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The Universe Eavesdrops

June 21, 2013

I am beleaguered by false nostalgia of late – by a feeling of a lost better time that, in point of fact, never happened. Not to me. Not in real life. But something about certain music (music to which I am oddly drawn right now) evokes in me a misplaced remembrance of an amazing experience slipping through my fingertips like a slippery fish in a fast-running stream.

It’s all bullshit, of course. Ennui manifesting as something sweeter. The feeling of loss, fabricated, heavier than my actual real life mild dissatisfaction because this loss is frosted in possibility kept at the back of the pantry long past its expiration date where I, pitiful hoarder, left it, kept it, saved it for the perfect time, which, as with all perfect times, never came. So much potential. So little of it capitalized upon.

But enough of that.

Remember my New York talk? Remember my quibbling over career paths and … whatever else I’ve been quibbling about? Well something out there heard and believed and aligned. I am socially acquainted with a recruiter, and one email lead to another, blah blah blah, I found myself introduced to a woman in my field. We hit it off, and the next day, today, as it happens, I received a call from said recruiter informing me that said woman in my field intended to create a job for me. A job that would land me in New York half time.

Well, then.

Of course, nothing matters til it takes form (read your L’Engle, kids), but this could be a hell of a career boost. Although I don’t feel quite done with my current job, if opportunity is knocking, I need to answer.

Every year I try to buy myself a nice birthday present. The sort of thing my mother would get me if she could afford it. Last year it was a higher-end purse. This year, a sleek new stereo. My previous set up was a graduation gift from my 1999 baccalaureate, so I was overwhelmed by the features available in the current world. My home has been awash in an eclectic mix of interweb music, fueling my inarticulate fits of tap dancing.

And the whole thing needs so little real estate. For some reason, I find it critical that I be able to live in 500 sq ft, despite my flat’s ample 900. If you can’t trust your thoughts, just watch your actions. The subconscious is not all that slick.

Here is with two hellishly cute cats. Now is kitty nap time. So Now it’s time for me to be Here. Under cats. Waiting for sleep to temper the nostalgia and excitement and all the rest of my emotional bouillabaisse. And to all a good night.

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