Who says what pace I'm supposed to run at, or who I'm supposed to catch up to? it occurred to me yesterday afternoon though, when my mother casually mentioned that she emailed me two CUNY job postings that expire today that even her gentle unobtrusive nursing must give way to me getting off my ass and living my life. For myself. For her, for everyone that believes in me more than I tend to believe in myself.
The trick is to steel oneself, to not be overwhelmed. Sometimes I foget that my middle name starts with a D and not an O. I did realize that I get discouraged easier than I like. It stinks of weakness and lack of resolve and everything I want to suck out of Snow White, Maid Marian, Katniss Everdeen, all the warrior women I find myself watching and salivating over onscreen. And there are so many others that pop up without their names at present. I want to earn my next tattoo. I know I am getting it, as clear as I knew when I was unemployed that it was the right time to finally get my driver's license. I decided at the beginning of the year that I would be 30 with my woman warrior on my shoulder, protecting my back and pointing the way forward with the tip of her keen arrow, but I'm still fumbling through dark forests, through bright barren deserts in my understanding of where the fight is, which direction should I run...
But here I am nonetheless. And something got my ass up a full hour before my alarm went off.....
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