I've been stagnating in Tucson. I know a lot of it has to do with not being employed. I'm sure I'd feel entirely different if I was gainfully pulling in just enough to drown below the poverty line (not). But even then, I think I'd feel as if my time in Tucson is up. I don't know where I'll go.
It's been almost nine years here. I've added a job or two to my resume, added a ring to my finger, and a few letters behind my name. None of it has left me feeling especially enriched.
I am a Cancer. Whether you believe in horoscopes or not, I share many traits with the stereotypical crab. I am a homebody who gathers her world around her. I am very, very comfortable in my shell.
I've lost my get up and go. It left without me and I didn't bother to follow, I'm not even sure I looked up when it closed the door. If I don't pry this shell off myself, I fear I will allow it to seal shut around me while I wither away on the inside, never even giving myself a chance to experience the world around me.
Like most writers, I'm a cerebral type. I make a few friends, I like them a lot. I am bad at nurturing friendships though. The love I feel for a friend rarely fades, the work of maintaining a friendship, however, is not something I'm especially good at. Like everyone, I lose friends to common attrition. Unlike everyone though, I don't pick up new ones easily. I need a change of environment to do that.
I will have to make sure I have a cushion wherever I land. I don't do well without a cushion. I'm one of those crazy chicks who thinks it fun to eat every day, and get itchy without a shower. I can survive here as it stands now, but I'm not thriving. I've become tangled in my own roots and they're starting to rot.
So I'm thinking of moving. Hoping it will save my soul.
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Currently reading: Dead Until Dark
Self-pubbing short stories
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