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23 May 2005

It Ends With The Beginning or The Six Month Theory
filed: rambles
Six months. Six months has become my personal time frame for large, long-term life decisions. Scarily, the six months seems to roll around without me marking a calendar or even taking note of the time passage until the life change has occurred. Six months I told myself was the time I was going to take to see if me and an ex would be able to make a go of it living together. Six months later I knew it wasn't to be for us, and on the cusp of the six months my mother died. Six months later I got a job offer I had previously declined due to the need for me to deal with the loss. Six months ago was the last time I had spoken to one of my dearest friend, a friend who had become so integrated into my life that we ultimately found one another bickering like old ladies, the end of our friendship feels like more of a divorce because our closeness. Six months ago a man entered my life from my past and swept me off my feet, Six months later I am faced with those two damn roads Robert Plant told me I could chose. Six months ago I left my old job, seeking respect, experience and more money. I got all three, but yet I was ultimately in a dead-end situation with highly niche job skills not applicable outside of certain arenas. Six months later I am going back to where I left, more money, hopefully respect as I was recruited by someone who thought highly of me. I will be not only getting more job skills applicable to various businesses, but I will get an office with a window. This window is what has made me happy all weekend. The promise of a window that when I am sitting there busting my ass I can look outside and remind myself that there is more to come, and perhaps it will be six months down the road. I hope in six months it will be sunny, and not rainy. If I get their tomorrow and there is no window, I will at least amuse myself with the memory of an old boss who wore a modified Flock of Seagulls hairdo and stirrup pants. Flock Of Bitch told a group of temps who were corralled in a closet sized office, with no phone, that they could make that office "their home." Yes. "You can do whatever you want together, in fact you can paint a picture of a window to hang up." So if this tale of the promise of a window was in fact a falsehood, l won't paint a fucking window, or even a mountain scene, because perhaps in six months I will.

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