7 Feb – 16 Feb

I’m seriously resisting February. It was such a shitty, annoying month. These prompts are no different.

February 7th – Right to health:
Is access to medical care something that governments should provide, or is it better left to the private sector? Are there drawbacks to your choice?
I am honestly ignorant in this topic, like most, and as a result, I can’t really answer. People should have medical care when they need it. I think that sums it up. Are there drawbacks to people getting the healthcare they need? Mmm. Now I’m being purposefully mocking. Of course there are drawbacks, as there are to anything. I’m moving on because it’s 530am and I can’t focus on this.

February 8th – Karma chameleon:
Reincarnation: Do you believe in it?
No.

February 9th – Childhood revisited:
Sure, you turned out pretty good, but is there anything you wish had been different about your childhood? If you have kids, is there anything you wish were different for them?
I’m so distracted by the awkward grammar, I … Okay. Yes, I did turn out pretty well. I hate to sound like a spoiled brat, because I’m not – there are plenty of shitty things that I’d not enjoy going through again – however, every single thing that happened in my childhood has helped shape me into the person I am today. The good things, the bad things, the frustrating things, the lovely things. Everything came together like puzzle pieces and although the picture isn’t finished, all the straight edges and corners are in place. 
Oh I see now, the second part of the question wants to know if I have kids now. Well, I don’t, but I could say there are things I will try my hardest to do differently for them because of things I went through or didn’t go through. There are things I want my kids to experience that I wasn’t able to experience and there are things I’ll try to keep them from going through. One thing I always give my parents shit for is letting up on Conor’s phone curfew when they let up on mine, although he’s four years younger. Ya know, stuff like that 😉

February 10th – Teachable moment:
You have to learn a new skill. Do you prefer to read about it, watch someone else do it, hear someone describe it, or try it yourself?
Any time I’ve had to learn something new for work, and probably in general and I’ve just never noticed, I’ve always wanted to have a mix of learning techniques going on. For example, when I started my receptionist job a hundred years ago, I sat with my trainer as she told me about everything she has to do in the course of a shift, she’d point out the different buttons and what they did, in what order she had to push the buttons to page someone or transfer a call, etc; I’d write everything down so that I wouldn’t have to ask again; then I’d sit and watch her do everything for a few hours. After all of that, I’d feel comfortable jumping in. I did the same thing when I started as an escrow officer. At least as a receptionist, I’d seen a telephone before. But ask me where to put the HOA on the HUD and how much to charge for the DOT and I’ll be able to answer you correctly.
If it’s like, putting together a desk or table and chairs from Nebraska Furniture Mart, just give me the directions and walk away.

February 11th – Whoa!:
What’s the most surreal experience you’ve ever had?
Oh, yes. Finally, I have an answer on the tip of my tongue for one of these. Sigh. Most surreal experience – may or may not be the most surreal experience I’ve ever had, but it’s sure as hell dreamlike – was meeting Martin Freeman. Well, not so much ‘meeting,’ since it’s not like we shook hands and introduced ourselves, but meeting nonetheless. 
In London, on North Gower, watching Sherlock being filmed. Already surreal, seeing a couple of my heroes in person and watching them create bits of a television show that has taken over my life. They took a break in filming and were setting up a different camera angle, so they had to have some of us fans shift around. My friends went off to the left and I went off to the right. I went across the side street to a smaller fan area and I think at that moment, I saw Mr Cumberbatch going over to the other side of the street. ‘Fuck,’ I thought. There was no way I was getting back over there. I looked up then and saw Mr Freeman coming over to my side of the street. I was behind a multitude of people, probably about four or five back from the barrier so I thought, again, ‘fuck,’ I’ll never get through. (And I’m not the pushing through the crowd type unless I’m at a concert). As I was giving up, I noticed him going further down my side of the street. The people were thinning out toward that end. Fuck it. It’s now or never. I hope to God I didn’t trot, but I made it quickly to where he was and he was talking to some woman in front of me. She was telling him what a huge fan her daughter was and how hard it can be to be a parent sometimes, or something like that, and Martin listened so intently and held her hand the whole way through her story. As soon as it was wrapping up, I stepped forward with my phone ready on camera-mode and shakily asked, “Martin, could I have a photo please?” (In retrospect, I wish I wouldn’t have been such a clot and called him Mr Freeman instead, ffs). But anyway, he just looked up and smiled and said, “sure, sure!” I kind of scooted next to the barrier that separated us, and held my phone out so that I could line up the shot. I’m fucking shocked that it wasn’t a blurry mess because when I said ‘shakily,’ I meant like, beginning stages of Parkinson’s. So yeah. I said thank you, or at least I hope I did, I don’t know, I was stunned, and he went back to filming. 
Even now, I can’t believe it. I think I texted about ten people and told them what happened. At that point, I’d already met Benedict and I think I’d met Andrew Scott? Either way, Conor was like, “how the fuck does this keep happening?” Oh, um, yeah, those were two other surreal experiences. 

February 12th – All about you:
Explain why you chose your blog’s title and what it means to you.
Aw yiss. So my blog’s title is ‘Consumed with that which it is nourish’d by’ and it’s from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73. Easy, really: I’m consumed with writing/journaling and I’m nourished by it. I always say that it keeps me sane and I’m not exaggerating in the least. Even earlier tonight, I felt like writing, so I picked up my journal and wrote about four pages of bosh. But it doesn’t matter that it was bosh, because I instantly had clear vision. Sometimes shit gets a bit cloudy, like all of a sudden life is shot through a diffuser. It’s not always a romantic look that the diffuser provides. Usually I’m fairly good at recognizing when that film slips in place and I can wipe it all away with the stroke of a pen. Hot damn.
Got off track. Maybe not really. But yes, that’s what journaling means to me, that’s what my blog title means to me. 

February 13th – Shoulda, woulda, coulda:
Tell us about something you know you should do… but don’t.
You mean besides working out?

February 14th – Cupid’s arrow:
It’s Valentine’s Day, so write an ode to someone or something you love. Bonus points for poetry!
Oh Christ.
I think if the answer doesn’t automatically come to me…

February 15th – Proud:
When was the last time someone told you they were proud of you?
Probably super recently. My parents are always proud of me for some reason or another lol That’s not to say that it has lost its meaning – I am very blessed to have parents that take pride in me and I’m equally as proud to call them my parents. 

February 16th – The clock:
Write about anything you’d like. Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, “I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.”
This is just screaming for fanfiction. Or maybe I’m screaming for fanfiction. I scream, you scream.
-> She was in her hometown tonight. She’d gone downtown for a drink at her favorite bar. She went alone because she didn’t mind being alone, really. In fact, she usually preferred it.
Unfortunately, tonight there were a few men who kept coming over to talk to her. Theirs was attention she didn’t want. “Look, guys, I’m flattered, but no thanks,” she said, trying to get them away from her as politely as possible.
One of the men didn’t very much like being denied and as he leant in to put his arm around her, her stool tipped to the side. She found herself shoulder to shoulder with the man next to her. She hadn’t paid any attention to anyone all night because she just wanted a goddamn drink in peace.
The man startled and looked down at her. Instantly, they recognized each other. In his lovely English accent, he said, “hello, darling.”
“Thomas, hi,” she answered, strained at the effort of holding herself up against him.
“What, you know this fucking guy?” One of the drunk men asked.
“In fact, she does, gentlemen; so why don’t you bugger off and leave us, eh?” Thomas said to the man.
She cringed. These didn’t look like the type of men to simply ‘bugger off’ when asked. In fact, they weren’t at all.
“What the fuck did you say?”
And that’s when the fight broke out. One of the drunk men raised his fist and wound up to hit Tom. Tom dodged the first one easily enough, but hadn’t seen the second drunk man’s fist coming from the right. His fist collided with Tom’s left cheekbone and he was thrown against the bar. She picked up her beer bottle and performed the biggest cliché she could think of: she broke it against the bartop.
She pointed it at the drunk man who’d swung first and then waved it at the man who’d actually made contact with James.
“When a lady says no, she fucking means no; so unless you guys want to spend the night in the ICU, why don’t you fuck off already?” she shouted.
The man closest to her started to laugh, so she stopped forward and brought the jagged bottle closer to his face. “By the way, I know the nurse on-call, so I can make sure you get the best care.”
The man put his hands up in surrender, seeing how serious she was. “Alright, alright, fuck.” They stumbled away.
She put the bottle on the bar and put up her hand to the bartender who was about to tell her to hit the road. “I know, I know.”
She looked at Thomas, who had been staring at her with his wide eyes, made even wider by her actions. “Blimey! Remind me not to fuck with you.”
“Goddamn right.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the exit. At the end of the bar, she spied a glass of ice, so she checked for the bartender and then took the glass.
Outside the bar, she held the glass of ice to Thomas’s cheekbone. “Here,” she said, “hold this.”
He exclaimed as the glass touched his face. “Jesus!”
“We should probably get moving in case those assholes decide to leave, or more likely, get themselves thrown out,” she offered.
“Right.” He answered as they started down the sidewalk.
“My car’s in the parking garage just a block over,” she said, digging in her purse for her keys. He answered again, “right.”
Once they found her car, he set the glass of melted ice on the barrier. “No,” she said, “take that. I’ll wash it.” He gave her a look as she got in the driver’s seat. “What? It’s a free glass,” she said with a wink.
Fortunately, it was still early in the evening, so maneuvering out of the parking garage was a breeze. Once she’d gotten them out and away from downtown, she asked him what hotel he was staying at.
“Um, the Marriott,” he answered quietly.
Not responding to his answer, she asked another question. “What are you doing here, anyway?” She cringed at her approach and immediately felt bad. He had taken a punch for her after all.
“I, um, well, I was here for an assignment. A project.” So he hadn’t scaled down after all. She wondered if that meant- “So yeah, as I’m sure you’re thinking, I’m divorced.” He looked down at the lighter line of skin on his left ring finger.
She let out a breath. Yikes. “I’m so sorry, Thomas. I didn’t- She didn’t-“
“No,” he said, “after you left me that night, I stood there staring out at nothing for ages. I felt like as soon as I moved from that spot, I’d have to make a decision. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to go after you, to be honest.”
She sucked in a breath at that. She remembered thinking she wished he would have. She kept preparing herself to be grabbed by the arm and spun around by him. It never happened and she never looked back.
“But I knew I couldn’t do that. I could have made things so much worse for myself by doing that, um, no offense- I mean, I hope you understand what I-“
“Of course,” she cut him off. “No, the last thing you should have done was come after me,” she admitted. Sealing her lips, she focused on the drive.
“I finally decided to just call her right there, so I didn’t have to move.” He made a sad sounding chuckle. “I tried to tell her that I could cut back on what I was doing and still be there for her and the boys, but she was so tired of it all by then… She had already made up her mind.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, flinching a bit, forgetting about his sore cheek.
She didn’t know what to say. It was just as well, as she pulled up to the entrance of the hotel.
“Well,” she started. As she was taking a breath to start again, he interrupted her.
“Stay with me.” It wasn’t a question. Not really a command.
Without a word, she put her car back in drive and pulled away toward the hotel’s parking lot.
She knew it would be only once. Just as it would have been before. This would never work as anything. But it would kill her to leave in the morning all the same.
She found a spot relatively close to the front door and grabbed her purse out of the back seat.
He met her behind her car and took her hand. She appreciated the gesture and smiled at him. She hoped he wouldn’t be able to read in her face what was really going on in her mind.
They made their way through the lobby to the bank of elevators. She was hoping his room was on a high floor so that she could look out over her city. It might help ground her.
He was. He motioned for her to exit the elevator first and then followed, grabbing her hand again in pursuit of his room. She was sick to her stomach when they reached his door. She almost hoped his key wouldn’t work so she could run.
It worked. She couldn’t deny that she wanted this, and he was divorced now, but it still felt entirely stupid. She’d do it anyway.
His room was fairly large. A nice room. A king-sized bed. The bed where, she couldn’t help but anticipate, a huge mistake was about to be made.
“I think I’ll, um,” she began, “I’m going to use the restroom.” With that, she stepped in and locked the door behind her.
Fuck. She thought. What the fuck am I doing? I always think I know what I’m doing and then I end up in these goddamn situations. She let out a breath. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked good, but she looked how she felt: conflicted. She listened for clues in the room. She didn’t hear anything. Surprised she didn’t hear a belt buckle or a boot dropping to the floor.
I mean, I don’t have to do this, she thought. It’s not like I’m obligated, and I’m sure he’s not the kind to force me into something. She squeezed her eyes shut and took another deep breath.
I’ll just tell him I can’t. I’m so glad I drove us here and not to my apartment.
She took one last deep breath and gripped the door handle. I can do this. I can tell him I can’t do this.
She opened the door slowly and listened again. She couldn’t hear anything. She practically tiptoed out of the restroom and around the corner. Then she saw him.
Passed out on top of the comforter, Thomas was fully clothed.
She had to stifle a laugh now. All of that for nothing. He must have been a bit more intoxicated than she noticed. Either that or he hid it well.
She went over to him and sat down beside him. She brushed his bangs off of his forehead. He stirred a little.
“Hey,” she whispered. He moaned a sleepy response.
She made to take off his boots. He tried to help by pushing his toes against the other foot’s heel, but his toes kept slipping off of the leathery boot.
“Stop it,” she giggled, “just let me fuckin’ do it.” He moaned another sleepy response.
Once she’d gotten his boots off, she put them at the end of the bed and decided against wrestling the comforter from underneath him. Luckily, there was a spare blanket in the closet. She covered him up to his chin and tucked the end of the blanket under his feet.
She stood and looked at him for a minute or two, secretly thankful for the decision she didn’t have to make. Again, he’d taken a blow for her. She bent over and brushed her lips against his forehead. He was completely out now.
Noticing the standard notepad and pen on the nightstand, she picked both up and went to the little desk by the television.
What do I even say? “Thomas,” she started. She froze for a moment before putting the pen down and quietly ripping the sheet from the pad. She tore it up and put it in the bin. She sighed.
She turned around to look at him. He had grabbed the blanket and pulled it tightly against him. He looked like such a child.
She stared at the notepad. She should thank him for defending her against that asshole at the bar. She should tell him again how sorry she is for his marriage falling apart. She should apologize for not being there in the morning.
“Talk soon,” she wrote.
She signed her name and put the pen down. She got up and went to the window overlooking downtown. She heard a car door slam and immediately looked at the clock. Jesus, she’d been standing there for twenty minutes. It was time to go.
“Goodnight,” she whispered. 

I’m a Bear

I just realized, with great glee, that I’ve essentially been hibernating for the past six months. If only I’d been feeding off of my body’s fat stores instead of continuously (and overly) replenishing them.

It’s getting to be about that time where I regret being a slug, but then, there’s really no point in that. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since getting my first job ten years ago.

I do have quite the motivation to lose about eight pounds this month, however: ComiCon in Sydney, Australia. I’ll be cosplaying a Midwesterner.

What I’m really excited about, though, is seeing my Aussie twins. It’s funny – I think it was even before this con came up, I was thinking about saying goodbye to the both of them at Paddington Station and just wishing the tube train was empty so I could cry afterward with minimal-to-no stares. Interesting how quickly and naturally we became friends – both in a country that was not our own, both there for different reasons, but both there for essentially the same duration. No coincidence that we met on my first night at the same ‘event.’

Actually, that’s what I’d like to tell Mr Cumberbatch, if ever the opportunity arises: Thank you for allowing complete strangers and mostly complete amateurs to be involved in a project that meant so much to you. If you hadn’t, I never would have met Jen, which means I never would have met Janine, which means I never would have met Geny or Shannon or any of the other gals. My London trip as a whole would have been a totally different experience and not one I’d care to think about, to be honest.

*shudder* Ugh. Yeah. Wow, I never even dared to go there until just now. What would it have been like had I not done Little Favour that first night. Or maybe I did, but wasn’t in the wrong right area, causing Jen to ask me, “are you here for Little Favour?” There’s just so much I never would have done or wouldn’t have gotten to do. I didn’t plan on knowing anyone over there, but as per, my plan is not the one in play.

So, I am ready to begin the waking process. Something Jen said, while we were discussing my potential trip across the Pacific, really stuck with me: something like, ‘I think it’ll cheer you up more than you know.’ Until she said that, I didn’t think I needed cheering up. I didn’t really think I was down. I knew I was apprehensive about air travel, I was discouraged about not finding a job, I found a great house and couldn’t buy it because I don’t have a job, I’m sick of my neighbors, blah blah blah blah. But, when she said that to me, it all seemed to click.

Traveling to Oz will help me get over my fear of being turned away at the border, unless I’m turned away at the border, it’ll get me out of Nebraska for a bit, which means it’ll get my mind out of Nebraska for a bit, I’ll get to see Jen and Janine, we’ll get to do some Sherlock stuff, I’ll see the beach, and hello, I’ll see a country I’ve never seen but one I’ve always wanted to visit.

She’s right. It will cheer me up more than I know. It’ll cheer me up even though I didn’t know I needed cheering up. I’ve been in my cozy, little cave for six months and it’s time for some fresh air.

I Send It with a Prayer

I just applied for a job at the BBC in London. I’ve been more or less avoiding applying for any jobs in the lovely city because I wonder if it’s worth it. The thought of even visiting London again after what happened [see: https://friisey.com/2013/11/21/two-days-in-nowhere/] makes me simultaneously anxious and dispirited. It would be so much simpler if I never wanted to go back. If I didn’t particularly care for the city or her people or the feel of her.

But I do want to go back. I do care for her, deeply.

So, it’s frightening. To think about trying to go back. And to think about not being able. Or at least not without much difficulty. During my job-search, I had only allowed myself to apply for jobs at BBC America (among other television/film production companies here in the States). It would just be easier that way. Then again, nothing worth having is ever easy.

My friend Sophie is actually who told me about the job – social media co-ordinator. I would have seen it on Tumblr eventually, since I follow BBC One, but something makes me wonder if I’d have had the nerve to apply if I’d just seen it in passing. Actually, I’m rather nervous having submitted to the job. And yet… something makes me wonder. Perhaps I was meant to apply today. Whatever the outcome… whatever the outcome.

Clearly, I’m at a loss. I’m currently struggling to hold back tears, to be honest. I don’t know, I don’t know. Things to do with London, as my passions tend to do, make me emotional. So with a prayer, I send my application. With the application, I send my sincerity.

(My heavens, I’m gushy. But, as Mindy Kaling said: “I’m the kind of person who would rather get my hopes up really high and watch them get dashed to pieces than wisely keep my expectations at bay and hope they are exceeded. This quality has made me a needy and theatrical friend, but has given me a spectacularly dramatic emotional life.”)

Back into Battle

“When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battle field.”

So says Mycroft Holmes in BBC’s Sherlock.

It’s funny. I had avoided watching Sherlock. Seeing it on Netflix and thinking, oh God, they made another tv show out of it. Thinking it couldn’t possibly be better than the RDJr films of which I was such a fan. Funny how now I can hardly stand the RDJr films after becoming so engrossed in Sherlock.

It just took that one viewing. Luckily for me, when I begrudgingly started watching a year ago, both seasons were already available on Netflix. To say I became passionate about the show/its characters/its creators/its actors would be a gross understatement. There have been few shows in my life that grip me so, and Sherlock, I am increasingly proud to say, could be the ultimate.

When I started watching a year ago, I couldn’t get enough. I’m not sure how many times I’ve watched each episode. How many discussions I’ve had about each episode. How many analyses I’ve done on each episode. The more I watch, the more I notice, the more I learn. It’s addicting, really: theorizing, analyzing. I haven’t read all of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes Adventures, so I have nothing to compare, but also, no expectations.

Upon finishing episode three of season two, the finale – as there are three episodes per season/series – I felt like I’d just finished an incredible book. I was tear-streaked, antsy, taking calming breaths, maybe even having to get up and pace. In such a short time, I’d grown to love these characters, aspired to be these characters. And then it was over. 

Once a third season had been commissioned, the floodgates opened. 

I was fortunate enough to spend time in London last summer and visit various Sherlock filming locations. I was even around to watch them film in person. I was even able to meet a few of my heroes. 

To me, it had been a hell of long wait. To those who had been around since the beginning, it had been even longer. (I parlously found Tumblr and, like many, got my Sherlock fix that way). 

But finally, it was here: Sherlock Season Three, starting on New Year’s Day.

The first episode, “The Empty Hearse,” was nothing if not the biggest gift to the fans. To us. To the people who waited. Like a loved one coming home after so long and the reunion actually being everything that you’d ever dreamt of. I’m not a huge fan of spoilers, so I won’t reveal anything in particular. I’ll just say that it was an absolute blast of an episode. 

The second episode, “The Sign of Three,” just aired today. Again, no spoilers, but to me, this episode could very well be perfection. I’ve never been so blessed as when I’m wracked with sobs due to the beauty of something. Truly. 

I was compelled to write simply because, well, I have that feeling again. The feeling I had when I watched Sherlock for the first time. I’m re-invested. I’m re-invigorated. I’m back on the battle field. To me, it feels real. These characters, these things. It all feels real. I feel involved. I feel like I’m running alongside. No, I’m not as clever as Sherlock Holmes, nor as brave as John Watson. I don’t need to be. But I can try to be. 

It’s that feeling again. Thrumming through my veins. Thoughts buzzing through so quickly, I can’t focus. If this is what falling in love is like, well. 

Expedited Shipping on my Order of Patience

I’ve been home from London since September 10th and done with my master’s degree since September 16th. I took some time to get my shit together – as in reorganize and de-clutter my apartment. Then I started looking for jobs online.

The last time I job-hunted was about two years ago. I was dying to get out of my job at the time and made it my second job to scour Careerlink.com. I started out looking for jobs to do with my psych degree: something at the Department of Health and Human Services, something at a local counseling center, etc. Then I thought, well, I have training in customer service, so I’ll look for customer service/receptionist/administrative jobs AT those places.

After being denied for absolutely everything, I started applying for any and all administrative jobs. I applied to be a receptionist, a secretary, a mailroom clerk, only to be turned down with an email. According to the (likely automated) email, I didn’t meet the minimum requirements for literally everything for which I applied.

Oh, so being in customer service for six years doesn’t meet the minimum requirements to be in customer service? Being a receptionist for three years doesn’t meet the minimum requirements for being a receptionist? Having a brain for twenty three years doesn’t meet the minimum requirements for being a mailroom clerk?

I applied for one more position – an escrow officer at a real estate company – on a total whim before I started looking at GoArmy.com. At this point, I was down to part-time work at my job and knew I would have to move into my dad’s basement in about a month if I couldn’t find anything.

Amazingly, the awesome people at NP Dodge must have liked something they saw in my resumé and further saw potential in me during my interview, because I was hired as an escrow officer within a couple days.

Seventy five applications later, I had a job.

I’m so glad none of those admin jobs worked out. I would have hated it and really, those jobs didn’t meet my minimum requirements.

When I started looking for jobs in October, I chose some companies: BBC America, Time Warner, AMC, Fox, Twitter, Discovery, ABC, NBC, Dreamworks, Sony, Apple, etc, and checked them every day. I think I’ve applied for at least forty jobs since October – all in New York or Los Angeles. After more thought, I have essentially stayed away from LA and really only apply in New York. I’ve always loved the idea of New York thanks to Sex and the City – getting up every day and taking the subway, grabbing a coffee at this Starbucks every day – just that city routine. I loved that in London – taking the tube, stopping by the neighborhood Starbucks, walking the busy streets. I feel that New York would be the closest thing to London. For now, anyway.

I have that strong feeling again. Before I went to London, I had such a strong feeling about being there and how it would be when I was there. I was not disappointed in the least. Like I said, I’ve got it again. This time with New York. I can see myself there. I can see my apartment, I can see the streets, I can see my office, I can see everything.

Just need the job now.

That’s where I tend to get discouraged. It feels like I haven’t been job-hunting for long at all, but then I look back and realize it’s been just over three months. (Of course, spelled out, that sounds like nothing). My apartment lease is up in May. If I don’t find anything in New York by March or so, I’m going to have to find something here. If I have to do that, I want to get a house.

There are so many if,thens and they’re stressful to think about. I really only have two months left before I have to start looking here (the hopefully-easier-job-market to penetrate this time), and then at that time, I’ll have to find a house and start the escrow process so that it times well with the end of my lease.

I just had to stop and put my hands to my face.

Okay.

I mean, I know I can always rent my apartment month-to-month – whether I find something here or find something in New York and have to delay moving one way or another. Six of one, half-dozen of the other. It’s just the job thing… I hate temporary things.

People have told me that I “should just get a job here because it’ll look better if I’m currently employed;” and I “should just get a job here to get some experience and keep applying for others while I work.” While I can see the logic of the first, well, and the second, suggestion, I don’t like either of them. Currently, I’m a co-owner of a film production company with a couple friends, so technically, I am ’employed.’ That mostly solves the first should. As for the second, I am a long-term kind of person. I’ve had three jobs since I’ve been 16; so, three jobs in nine years. The thought of going through the rigamarole of the hiring process, getting acclimated, learning my responsibilities, and being trained for a job I’ll have for fewer than six months (hopefully) just makes me shake my head. At that point, I’d be torn between keeping the job that I’ve invested in and packing up and leaving for a job in New York. Which sounds utterly ridiculous after everything I’ve just said.

Also, if I have to ‘settle’ and get a job here, I can’t help but feeling that it’ll be just that – settling. As much as I adore Omaha and could easily live here for the rest of my life, now that I’ve got this desire and drive to be somewhere else, it’ll just never measure up. New York isn’t London, but Omaha isn’t New York.

I’m getting a bit restless and I’m always impatient. People (lovingly) telling me what I should do makes me feel rushed. Yesterday, I was on the verge of a mini-freak out when I found this a graphic that said, “Don’t rush and never settle. If it’s meant to be, it will be.” That was a perfectly-timed find, along with another graphic that said, “Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway. – Earl Nightingale”

I was completely meant to find both of those things when I did. I need to take a breath and try not to rush things, as well as not resigning to settle. I don’t want to settle for Omaha and I don’t want to settle for a not-quite-perfect job in Omaha. About the only thing I will settle for is a not-quite-perfect job in New York: as long as it’s at the company I want and there is room to move up, as far as I’m concerned, that’s a gold star.

I am also glad I was reminded not to give up on my dream to find a perfect job in New York. And the time is going to pass whether I keep working for it or not, so I might as well keep working for it. I just have to keep trying.

Getting a perfect job in New York could mean so many steps toward getting back to England someday. That alone is enough encouragement to not rush and not settle.

My only ‘resolution’ this year is to spend next New Year’s Eve in Times Square – which will only have been a subway ride away from my apartment.

Merry Christmas Eve, Brought to You By Adobe Photoshop

Merry Christmas Eve, Brought to You By Adobe Photoshop

A year ago today, it felt a lot more like Christmas in London. As a result, I decided to (do a horrible job, but nevertheless) photoshop us there.
I took the photo of the Christmas tree in the Landmark Hotel last year; and I took the photo of me, mom, and my brother today.
This is a representation of my skill and imagination.
Oh, and it’s incredibly blurry because I thought that would help. It really doesn’t.

Happy Anniversary

I just realized that it’s been exactly a year since my first trip to London. 

It can’t have been a year. It doesn’t seem possible. 

I don’t even know what to say, really; I got emotional all of a sudden. 

It’s like thinking about the moment you fell in love, you know? 

The moment you knew you were ruined forever. 

But in the best way possible.

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