In a colossal demonstration of how little I value financial stability, I quit my job. My last day was the Tuesday before Christmas. Now, my monetary contributions toward the household treasury will come from a hodgepodge collection of odd jobs and freelance writing opportunities. Do you find my recklessness refreshing, or perhaps even titillating? That's why I did it. To titillate you, the reader.
Titillation aside, feeling has returned to my brain. I mean, besides dread and hopelessness and uncertainty. I kept feeling THOSE things while taking two buses and a train each way, every day. But now, I also feel things like pride and contentment and sheer, unadulterated joy when, from my living room window, I watch the commuter heading to pick up Nick in below-zero weather while I stay home snug and warm. Suck it, Kansas!
Anyways.
I am definitely writing again. Both here, just to irritate Randal, and on the Downers Grove Patch, to irritate my entire town. I'm rusty, though. I need to crank back up into production mode.
