I feel like today is my 30th birthday and imminent danger lurks tomorrow. I feel like I'm thirty years old and still not finding myself. Day 30. A month. 1/12 of an entire year. I had a spectacular day today and I feel guilty. I feel guilty for not making one dime today, and spending 130 of them. I feel guilty for enjoying myself today. I feel guilty for endless reasons from endless pasts. The less I work the happier I am the sadder I become because I know it is short lived. I want to be wanted by my dream company. I want them to meet my every whim and demand, from my salary to my hours. I want to do things; big, bold, important things. I want to do something that matters. I can't add that pressure to the already mountainous hunt in front of me. I have to be happy in my skin and content in my work. Life is a work in progress, and how will it be when the picture is painted? It will be boring, and who'd buy it then? When the paint dries, I'd buy the farm.
I'll continue the soul search, along with the job search.
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