New Year’s Day came and went with the utmost nonchalance around here. I’ve long thought it to be overrated, now that I’m trying to find a new job, it’s downright irritating: a perfectly good weekday, um, wasted.
We’re beginning our journey back to the holy city tomorrow, and our Yuletide fortnight has flown by. The holidays become more and more of a blur as I get older, this year especially since we were thrown into a whirlwind. I’d love to be able to sit back and breathe one of these years, especially the next two or three years as the beans grow and begin to really get excited for trees and lights the holiday season. This year, it was all survival, all the time. My girls deserve better. I deserve better. I’ll get better.
Heading back and back into the unknown, I’m returning to battle with this attitude: not content, not settling, capable for any job I’m gunning for. The holidays didn’t stop me, they just slowed me down a little.
The old highway’s a-callin’.
Dispatches from the Bread Line are week-daily blog posts until I’m employed again.