Does anyone know where I can buy a lovely handbasket? I have an impending trip to Hell, and I want to be sure to have the appropriate accessories. Yesterday was not a good day. I said a prayer for Terri Schiavo, another for the Pope, and no - I'm not Catholic. I'm just a backslidden Baptist. Then I spent the day fighting down my anger at my department manager for failing to back me up on an issue I felt was very important. I'm better, but there will be some changes made. Things have been dicey ever since the whole "go with the department/stay with NCS" fiasco. I thought we had it settled, but my ability to influence has been compromised, and I'm feeling pressured to change my way of doing business to more closely match that of our parent department. I can't do that in good conscience, so I think it's time to start thinking about what my next step will be.
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
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