The dogs and I have just come in from playing in the lower field where they ran in wide circles, wild like horses.

Outside a random rain squall has passed over, leaving a strong fresh wind in its wake. Franz Ferdinand plays on the stereo, loudly because that?s the only way to listen to it, and because T is out for a few hours so I don?t have to feel badly about subjecting him to my obscure needs.

I haven't listened to this cd in ages, in years, actually. It brings me back to those late summer nights when I started smoking again (a temporary thing, I assured myself--a means to keep writing--ha) as I wrote pages and pages, drinking Corona from the bottle with a bit of lime wedged in its neck. Now as I listen to this crazy Scottish band I am reminded just how much I love this sound, this music, the lead singer's voice ? I love how the beat slows dramatically to a thump, thump thump. Okay, it infects my blood. That?s the best way I can describe it. It infects my blood and gets me riled and feverish and I LOVE that feeling. Though I can't help remembering trying to get T to listen to it, but for him it was "head-banging music," which confounds me even now. Is it head-banging music? What part of this sound ignites me so? Am I a head-banger? Hmm, something to ponder.

It's been a strange yet lovely week. Work is winding down and I have pretty much extended my vacation without really intending to. It's just that I find myself drifting, lolling and loathe to make much of an effort toward anything. Not surprisingly, instead of enjoying this phase of things, I tend to think what a terrible person I am for being so unproductive. Fortunately, I have been spending a lot of time in my journal and goofing around making stuff which assuages the critical voice. In particular, I've been reading a book that Teesha recommended on her site: foolsgold.

It's been a helpful little read for me--the right books falling into your hands at the right time and all that--as part of this big slump I've been luxuriating in is due to the unavoidable fact that I'm not likely to continue on with the job I'm in.

I know, I know-- trust me, I hear you, I KNOW.

That's why I am resonating so strongly with what Susan writes in foolsgold, "it can take courage for us to realize we've had the wrong idea and made wrong decisions and need to change midstream. We might be in the wrong city for us. The wrong relationship. The wrong life. Writing the wrong book. If we have to be right about everything, we won't allow ourselves to change, and to free our creative natures."

It's been pretty clear over the past few months that the job I'm in is not a good fit for me and yet I refused to admit it. Refused. How could this be? Didn't I go to the top of the mountain top and shout oh frabjous day I've found my "perfect" job? Why yes, yes I did. So that makes it, um, true?

(Er, sorry Charlie, that?s a goat behind door number three.)

But oh how difficult it has been for me to come to terms with that. Not only the obvious chagrin that it isn't in fact the right job for me, but the deeper more insiduous truth that I don't want to acknowledge which is, if this isn't it--what the hell is? (And we'll just not mention words like 'crazy' 'unstable' 'dilettante', etc. okay by you?)

For awhile, I just ignored those thoughts because they caused me too much discomfort and that's what I tend to do--ignore what I can't fix. Also, there was no time for reflection-- I had to use all my energy just to get the job done. Now, however, time has slipped around my shoulders, offering comfort and a view over the past year so that I can draw my own conclusions.

(And I say, "TAKE ME OUT." Ha-- couldn't resist-- that is exactly what is playing as I type. If you don't know the song-- sorry, inside joke.)

If I had to sum it up quickly why it?s just not a good place for me I would say, if I were a gentle internist suddenly assigned to an inner city Emergency Room, well, it would be like that. The job needs someone who thrives on chaos, who needs everyday to be unlike the one before and who never knows what?s coming at them. I am not that person. In fact, that kind of environment makes me feel wretched?like a total failure, and I do feel that amidst the things I did successfully over the past year, I also failed at pretty much the basic part of my job. Which, if you?re not really familiar with failing, sucks. Sure, it might get better. Sure, if I keep doing it for a few years, I?d make less egregious errors--but I wouldn?t enjoy it, and I think there?s someone out there who truly would.

What's next? I have some ideas but nothing concrete-- so stay tuned, when I know, you'll know. And, let it be said, for the record, I do see this all as a piece of something larger-- this WAS the right job for me to get out of where I was and it has propelled me further down the right path--it's just time for me to go a different route.

We?re off to a wedding in Vermont this weekend with 300 people (90 percent of whom are under the age of 30), three bands, and some very rocking individuals?I?m thinking it might not suck. Hope yours is good, too?

pictured above is a quinoa pie made by yours truly

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