The Paper

I keep visiting this, hoping another intelligent post is going to magically materialize, and of course, it hasn't. And I think I know why.

I have plenty to say. Plenty on my mind. But this isn't Facebook. It's a blog. And a blog's not a diary, right? But at the same time, I'm supposed to share my life in a well-groomed, creative way.

The thing is - nothing, absolutely nothing, is well-groomed these days. The past few weeks have been filled with looming, yet revitalizing deadlines. Deadlines that reconnected me with the part of myself that got silenced under the mounds of paperwork and coordination and planning.

And then there's that whole moving thing. That small move. The need to address my resume. To gather the random things that have been my life for the past three years and fit it on a single 8.5 x 11 (well designed, may I add) piece of paper. And truth be told, every time I start thinking about my "skills", I have the overwhelming urge to write that I poop gold. Mature, very mature.

But the one thing that piece of paper doesn't show, can't show, is how much I've grown. The feeling of knowing what I'm doing and where I'm going. The mental fortitude to handle it. Three years has been ten.

So here it is. The post I wanted to write. Don't know if I should write. Don't care any more because it's me and I did write.

And for the record - I don't poop gold, but I can do some pretty amazing things...