My life is good. Really. Much better than most. Jetting off to weddings in Cairo, spending time in London and New York almost whenever I want, enjoying dinners, concerts, theatre with friends - seriously, I can't complain.
Let me rephrase that.
I shouldn't complain.
That doesn't mean I can't.
Today is not so much a rant day as an existential crisis day. Think of it as throwing a methaphorical bottle into the metaphorical webby ocean to see if there's an answer out there. Somewhere.
Here's the question: "What the bejeezus am I supposed to do now?" (notice the quaint use of swear words - this blog is kid-friendly).
Seriously, though. I'm feeling a bit lost. The book - well, nothing much is happening with the book. Eventually it will be finished. And then I will need a job. Preferably one I enjoy. One that allows me some time for sleep, exercise, and a social life. One that doesn't make me so miserable I have to quit after a year. One that my CV can be creatively tailored for without resorting to outright lies.
So where is that job?
Is it in Paris? Because it really doesn't feel like it right now. Which is a slight problem seeing as I just bought a flat here (ah, yes, I forgot to mention. More on that another day).
And what do I about the fact that I miss my friends who all live far away, and half of my friends here seem to be headed in the same direction?
[INSERT LOUD PLAINTIVE KEENING]
If you have a solution to my crisis, please send replies to Res @ selfpity dot com.
Thanks. I feel much better now.