Balls.

I am tired of tea. I wish that there were a drink that were like tea, but different.

I’m tired of the flavored-water-ness of it. Maybe I am just tired.

I’m listening to Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” album and feeling a little bit disappointed because, earlier today, I found out that although I was one of only two people in the final running for the cushiest freelance writing-related type gig I have ever heard of in my life, the powers that be decided to give it to the other person.

Not, perhaps, the most honorable gig. But certainly the cushiest. Sigh.

I know, for these next couple of months I gotta knuckle under and get this thesis into defensible shape. But after that…what’s going to happen to me? I’m ready to at least think about a change.

I want to do more writing and be more self-directed (but not lonely and unstructured—I’ve been there and done that, thank you). I have this lit mag I do. I have this idea for this book I’d like to write. I have another thing or two in the can.

It’s just not entirely clear how to arrange these pieces into a life that includes enough money and enough human companionship and just, you know, feels right. I guess I have some time to figure it out.

Time I won’t be spending working on the CUSHIEST WRITING-TYPE GIG EVER.

I will forthwith soothe myself with this adorable public-domain image of owls.