Turn the Page

Came quite close to passing out at the Gym last night. As of yet, I dunno if this is the indicator of anything more serious, but my blood work two weeks ago was nigh-on perfect, so /shrug. If I’m still here on Monday, I’ll go see someone. 72 hours is the time limit I was always told to work in. For now, if I could get my neck to click, that would be a start. There’s a LOT of tension in my shoulders right now.

The next 48 hours are the most important of my professional career thus far. Whatever happens, I’m already the furthest forward I’ve ever managed. I have gone back several times since Wednesday to read the shortlist email. There was always a wonder of how that would feel when it happened. Turns out I was right: it just reads as progress. I’m not gonna be annoyed if I don’t get it. I’ll be fucking scared shitless if I do get it, though. Them’s the breaks.

Fear remains the most potent of motivators. I like not knowing now more than I ever did before, because the process of throwing stuff out of your very essence into the cold, harsh world is not fun. It seems easier to think everything has failed now, so there’s not a worry about what happens when you stop succeeding, or it’s all just another thing on the successful pile. That also sounds terribly arrogant, I realize, but if everything did hit its target in the next six months, I have the career I wanted and then some.

Then what do I do?

Make a Statement

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