Moving on.
      I am getting the itch to move on lately.
      Not from Mark, he’s my world. Let’s just dispel THAT rumor before it begins.
      But I am increasingly dissatisfied with my present situation and that leads to feelings of itchy feet and longing for change. Which is hilarious for me because my Taurus-ness seems to preclude a desire for change and in fact, seems to insist upon as little change as possible. I adore routine. I hate uncertainty. Change is anathema to my sanity.
      Yet… here I am.
      I think it is primarily my job. I can’t even say career. This definitely isn’t a career in the standard definition. I am not “called” to this work. There is nothing I create, there is nothing I do to help anyone or improve the world, there is little I say that matters to anyone. I push digital paper to help an evil empire own just a skosh more of the world from day-to-day. I answer (often idiotic) technical questions to provide support on basic things that people making three or four or TEN times what I make should probably already know.
      I wanted to be a teacher when I was young. But as I grew, the reality of dealing with bratty post-millennium children and their ADHD-iPad-staring-anti-intelligence-meme-sharing-entitled asses made me sick. Plus, I learned from other people who went into the field about all the politics involved in modern public schools in America. All I can say about it is a resounding FUCK THAT.
      I wanted to be a nurse for awhile. But as much as I’d like to make a difference in someone’s life, blood and pus and poop and vomit and wounds and oh my GOD, I couldn’t. I couldn’t.
      I wanted to work in television or movies, but primarily as a writer. I am not moving to Hell-A (yeah, LA, I know) or New York, I am terrible at networking and selling myself, and I am not great (yet totally amazing) at deadlines.
      There were other things that occurred to me at times. I wanted to be a veterinarian or a professional dog trainer/breeder. I wanted to be an astronaut or a research scientist. I wanted to be a choreographer (back before I learned that I have no rhythm and am a total klutz).
      All I really want to do is write. I feel like I can contribute meaningful words to the American Literary tapestry. Still, making that into a full-time career, one that pays my rent, seems like an unassailable obstacle. Freelancing means spending all my time writing about things that pay the bills (i.e. click-bait articles and faux journalism for craptastic internet content aggregators) and tons of accepting mere pennies for my hard work. I suppose there are other gigs available, but I have rarely felt like my writing (aside from my fiction) is good enough to publish.
      But if that writing isn’t good enough, is any of my work good enough?
      Do I have any talent at all?
      Should I keep writing? Well, duh. Writing is in my blood; it is what I do, it is who I am. But that doesn’t mean I will ever make a career of it or even a single penny of income from it.
      Maybe that’s okay. Maybe not everyone who loves writing is destined to be the next Stephen King/JK Rowling/GRRM. Maybe I’m not destined even to be Melanie Rawn or Kate Elliot.
      But I am destined to keep writing, even if I am the only one who reads and loves my characters.
      Still, the whole point of this blog was that I feel like it is time for a change. Since I like our home, I love my husband, and I adore our puppy – the job/career thing seems to be the sticking point for my dissatisfaction. Thus… a change.
      Now I just gotta figure out what I actually want to do with the years that remain to me; how can I better the world, even if its just my own tiny corner?
      Should I write?
      Should I publish?
      Is that a valid life choice?
      Certainly, working this third shift job isn’t going to last forever. Or, more accurately, I won’t last forever working this job.
      BLARGH… more rambling another night.
      If you actually read this, btw, and you have advice – please comment. Share with me yon wisdom, for I haveth so little of mine own. Speaketh! Hark! Et cetera.

Note: Image is “Vintage Seal 3” by (Krzysztof (Kriss) Szkurlatowski) from SXC.hu edited by Josie