Top 10 reasons or more to be happy that it is Friday:
1. Because it's Friday, silly.
2. And it is most definitely bare feet and beverage-on-the-patio weather.
3. The Flyers are on tonight and we're going out to watch them on a big screen tv and consume treats.
4. I am going to invite the hummingbirds over tomorrow. I will walk around in the new grass barefoot, plant salvia in the empty flower beds and refill my nectar feeder. Come on over, hummies! Club Kate is open.
5. Andrew and I will begin to puppy-proof the house and yard this weekend. Woof.
6. My website reconstruction is well underway, and maybe something new will pop up on Monday. Look out.
7. Big breakfasts for two days. Chocolate chip pancakes with bananas, Mexican omelets, eggs Benedict, bacon... and coffee laced with cinnamon.
8. Ducks in the creek out back going KWACK KWACK KWACK.
9. If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck and there's duck doo on your pickup truck, you can bet your bottom buck it ain't no armadilla.
10. Penelope is marrying her sweetheart in just two days. *sigh of blissful romance* Cheers Penny!

I have a Very Important Thing scheduled soon, but I have to be hush hush because it's a Secret Agent Snowbird kind of thing. Alright it's not that secret, I spoke about it yesterday. I am not so good at being a Secret Agent. I giggle my way out of my disguise every time.

I feel more hopeful today than I did yesterday because I did something proactive. I drew a card and hopped up a spot or two through the Molasses Swamp, and I can almost see the Lollipop Woods in the distance. With every new move I make the overwhelmingness of the day job shrinks a little and the clearer my perspective becomes on the whole situation. I step back a bit. I can almost feel it physically. It's like, I don't know, like revisiting a place you haven't been in forever and realizing that it was never as big and scary as you once thought it to be (nor big and wonderful). You were just a lot smaller back then and so of course you looked up at everything. This week I have begun to look down. I am a little head-floaty and slightly disoriented, but not in a bad way... I think it is good.

Meanwhile I'm counting down the minutes til wine o'clock...

Getting things done. It seems to be happening, slow and steady. I got myself to the SCBWI conference in New York on Monday where I received interest from two agents. (Almost as exciting, I drove there all by myself through all 20 lanes of Manhattan traffic.) I reconnected with the art director who contacted me there 2 years ago, spoke to him briefly, and he made me laugh about Walmart. Did I mention that the man has bears eating his birdseed at his home? How I'd love to wake up one morning and see that in my yard. I wonder how the goldfinches would react?

Today I have been volleying phone calls from two different job recruiters who want me to "commit to relocation" for jobs in unfamiliar places without ever being there, not even for an interview. The salaries are better than where I'm at, and I'm pretty sure the working conditions can't be any worse, but how can I leave my purty new relandscaped puppy yard, my completely renovated 1927 kitchen, my neighborhood of birds, all on the premise of a bit more money?

In doing so I would be, I think, be giving up on The Dream. The work-at-home, write-and-illustrate, license, birdwatch and love-the-puppy dream. The I-do-think-at-some-point-I-may-have-babies dream. The get-the-heck-outta-this-dysfunctional-office dream.

Funny thing is, this is not a completely novel idea, this relocation. I had that sudden Minnesota opportunity a few months back and that was the first time I had ever even considered it. Once I did, I looked at houses on Realtor.com to check out the neighborhoods. Every single one of them was blanketed with a foot of snow. But I have this (creative?) ability to overthink myself into excitement. In Minnesota I might have lived on a little lake with hummingbirds buzzing all around in summer, moose and meese and geese and other cold-climate wildlife leaving their footprints in winter. Plus, I would be designing pet toys during the day. These musings were alluring until the company said, "Sorry. But we will keep your resume on file for upcoming openings."

New York state, I don't know. I can't imagine me there. I don't know the wildlife. I don't know the terrain. All I know is that Westchester--the location of the latest potential job--is where Donald Trump has a mansion and Howard Stern walked his dog. There must be less extravagant areas as well, but would the salary still be enough to make that move? It doesn't seem to be.

The final job prospect is with a company whose mere mention would inspire any kid to say, "Yeah, I want to work there when I grow up!" Unfortunately, "there" is in an odd locale in Pennsylvania... too far to commute, too close to warrant relocation. Besides, just because a company sounds cool doesn't mean it offers a good sound job. I know this from experience. Twice. Bye bye Zany Brainy, bye bye FAO. Hello unemployment, hello job of desperation.

I am scared. I am scared of making a permanent move, a big decision that affects both me and my husband on such a large scale. I am afraid of leaving this crummy job only to end up in another office where I can overhear my boss whispering to his mother "What is she doing in there? Has she done anything all day? Did you look at her screen and see?" like right here, right now. I don't want to join a company that is about to file for Chapter 11 but won't tell you that until the day it happens. I want to work for me, and I want to hire a few people who are good at math to do all the stuff I hate. At the very least I want to try.

What's funny is the thought of walking out on this job today without a safety net makes more sense and causes less anxiety than the thought of taking either of those other two "more sensible" jobs.

Due to popular demand I've decided to grace you all with an encore appearance.
Have you yet seen my perfect profile?



Just a few minutes with this human and she was already under my spell.



This is going to be way too easy.

Meet the Beaglet sisters.



We arrived at the breeders on Sunday morning at 10:30am. We had a big decision to make. We had to choose between these two little morsels of puppiness, these cuddly wuddly squirmy little balls of fur.



This wasn't going to be easy.



We held them, we pet them, we squeezed and smelled them, loving them both up until inevitably one of them would say, "pick me!"



Bachelorette Number One, left, was a floppy little girl with legs that sprawled out like Bambi when you put her down on the couch. Bachelorette Number Two, the runt, was a bit more energetic and svelt, her skin fitting just so whereas floppy girl seemed to be swimming in hers. Both displayed satisfactory Beagle behaviors such as walking with nose to the ground just as a hound should do. At only 4 weeks old!



Andrew's nose got a lot of attention.



After about an hour of "hot potato" passing of the pups between one another we had to make a decision. Our breeder even got up to do a load of laundry at one point when she realized that we weren't going to be quick and easy. When she returned the pressure was on. Something about the little one really had me swooning, despite her different appearance and her very brown markings... I had thought I wanted a puppy like the floppy girl with the white streak up the nose...

The little one was getting antsy while the floppy one was getting sleepy. Andrew held floppy in his jacket and she just started snoozing. Wee one was sniffing all over the couch for some sign of food. Then she sat on her rump, craned up her neck and let out a great mournful little Beagle "Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwoooowowowwwl!" I cracked up. Her little lips pursed in her Beagle cry was just too much. I asked to see floppy one more time and handed the little runt to Andrew. Somewhere in the transistion Andrew's nose became locked in a peculiar location:



This girl did not lick affectionately, she had decided Andrew's nose must be fast food and proceeded to suck, nip, bite and claw at it tenaciously, desperately awaiting for his nostrils to be stimulated into milky action. For a runt she sure seemed to be the more alert, personable and eager one. It seemed that every time I took a picture she looked right at the camera. "This one, we like this one," we told the breeder. At last she went for a color coded collar to place on the chosen one to differentiate her from the crowd (there were 6 boys already chosen and color coded in the pen). I had a choice between a tiny little yellow collar and a itty bitty orange collar. I was about to choose orange when the breeder realized that the orange one was an inch longer than the yellow so we had better give her the yellow, being so small. The collar transformed from a tiny little half inch wide thing to a gigantic necklace when she put it on our pup. And just then a light shone down from heaven...



And our girl looked very, very proud. What a regal Beagle. At that point I knew this little girl was going to be quite a princess. Spunky, feisty and ruler of the world.



And somewhat resembling her new mother? (I think it's in the ears.)

Just three weeks and we take the little nipper home! The weekend of May 15. I think I will need a whole seperate blog for this girl. She's too photogenic. I love her.

Pronunciation: hOk-'o-"pus-"hEk-'lä-"bor-'est
Usage: foreign term
Etymology: Latin
: this is the hard work, this is the toil



I was going to skip lunch today because I had too much to do on my break, and I was doing perfectly fine in the appetite department until 3:34pm. Now I am ravenously consuming carrots and celery with peanut butter like it's going out of business. I'm getting peanuty oils on the keyboard and keyboards are so hard to clean.

I am looking forward to the weekend though it does not promise to be the relaxing sort of weekend, more of a Get Things Done Already weekend. I have an illustrator's conference at the Society of Illustrators on Monday whereupon my portfolio will be on display for art buyers, art directors and editors to peruse at their leisure while I listen to lectures a story below. Then there is the after-conference mixer where they pull out the wine and pour it in those little plastic wine cups and that's when I get to reacquaint with an art director who 2 years ago showed interest in my portfolio, the kind man. He then invited me to come tour his company--Boyds Mills Press, a division of Highlights Magazine--which was really kinda neat and we had lunch at a local diner where there were lots of locals. We talked about politics and penguins. See, his wife happens to be a Penguin Collector. She has a room full o' them and handpainted her own penguin bathroom tiles. So you see, the penguins have a way of bringing good people together in their own special penguinese way.

Anyhoo, this means I need to give my portfolio an Extreme Makeover. I have pages in there that have been manhandled so many times the black paper is now greyish and bumpy. The clear vinyl is foggy. The ink from the repros of my work has jumped right off their paper and stuck to the vinyl's interior. It's a mess.

Then, I need to have some new "take-aways" for interested parties to ...take away with them. Right. I have had two postcard designs done in the past (of which I have hundreds leftover) but these are years old and I need something snappy, something new. Like my snow angel penguins. But of course, of course, when I started to print these things last night on my own printer my printer and my laptop got in an arguement and now they are not speaking to each other. I have tried and managed to get one print out before they huffed and puffed again. My computer has been nothing but trouble and I really am starting to think it is just plain mean. Why would it decide to be extra difficult at such a crucial time? Why, because I need it more than ever, of course. Why should things happen easily?

It doesn't help that I'm just doing all this now. Days before the very important event. It's been bugging me daily that I've had other things to do higher on the priority list--things that were not quite as fun as children's book related work, but important regardless. So here I am, as usual, rushing everything in the last minute.

Luckily I will have the day to myself tomorrow. Andrew, being the rough and tough PS2 Navy Seal that he is has a big event planned with his SOCOM buddies. Paintball. See, it's not enough to shoot the crap out of your friends and brothers on a TV set with a headset on your ear to make it even more real. No. You must do it in person. You must purchase army pants--REAL army pants--and other camoflage accessories such as a bucket hat and gloves with the fingers cut out. My oh my, will he look cool. Anyway, while he is blasting painful pink and baby blue balls of paint at his brethren, I will be plugging away at the Kate Hamilton Marketing Materials That Will Get Her Some Publishing Work, Enough To Let Her Quit Her Miserable, Noxious Day Job And Get On With The Creative Life She Deserves. So yeah, I have a lot of work to do.

Let us pray.

Father in Heaven, please look down upon your daughter Catherine Erin and help her achieve her goals for the weekend so that she may be blessed with the creative life of her dreams as you intended. May her Powerbook be given the power of the Lord and reject the temptations of the System Error Devil, and may her printer praise your name. Let all the angels in Heaven proclaim her an Artist, and grant her the strength and perseverence to get things done this weekend. And deliver her from her evil day job, Forever and ever.

Amen.

Ok, now that I've had a recovering catholic flashback moment I can now reveal the fun plans. Sunday. Sunday Sunday. Sunday, my friends, at 10 o'clock in the morning, eastern time, I will at last meet her. Yes, that's right, it's going to happen. I am going to meet--

My puppy.

I can hardly believe it, it doesn't seem real, it's surreal in fact, and I am convinced that something dramatic is going to happen before Sunday to prevent my union with my puppy. Sunday is bound to be beriddled with hurricanes and tornadoes and volcanoes and earthquakes and all sorts of natural phenomenon to keep me away from my dawg. I've already been through the false pregancy disappointment, at least I know this litter exists, but I am worried. With the way my computer and printer have been acting, this couldn't go right, could it?

If everything is ok and goes well and the three girls minus the runt are healthy and delightful, in 4 weeks I'll be taking her home. And of the names I've presented to Andrew, he has added and eliminated mercilessly as expected, but there are a lucky few that remain:

Daisy
Petunia
Sweetpea
Cleo
Penny/Penelope (I told you I loved your name, didn't I?)
Daisy
Petunia
Sweetpea
Ladybird
Kitty

Then there's Andrew's stripper names:
Bambi
Summer
Lexus

And finally:
Oatless ...an inside joke from a particularly painful round of Scrabble. Don't worry, it won't happen. But if we somehow end up with a boy... it's kind of like Otis or Opus and that's alright by me. Opus is cute.


© Berkeley Breathed 2003

First off... go here and pick a drawing contest and enter it. No matter your age or skill level, it doesn't matter. They will publish your art! And the subjects such as "Draw you before your were born" and "Draw an animal soul" are really, really cool. I want my new website to have a similar sense of freedom to it. I guess I need to free myself up a bit first.

Now, puppy names! Such great suggestions! I love so many of them! Here are some my friend Megan and I conjured up last night.

Miscellaneous
1. Cleopatra/Cleo (I love Cleo, it's cute)
2. Penny or Gwen as abbreviations for Penguin

Cool vintage old lady names. Names I would love to name a child but might not.
1. Gertrude/Gertie
2. Agnes/Aggie
3. Maggie
4. Clementine/Clem
5. Florence/Flossie/Flo
6. Beatrice/Bea
7. Maude
8. Fern (also from Charlotte's Web)

Then there are the Polish names. I have just done a search online because I couldn't think of any except "Katya."
1. Kamila
2. Zofia/Zosia/Zotia (Zoe)
3. Klementyna (Klem)
5. Lidia
6. Wira (pronounced Vera)
7. Bopcha (Polish word for grandmother)

And here are the creative geniuses:


Megan, mother of Otter, and little Me at my 30th birthday party back in January '04.

Of course Andrew hasn't seen these lists yet, so many may be mercilessly eliminated. Though he did agree that Cleo was cute. I like dog names that end in "o." And Megan says that Beagles often look like they enjoy wearing lots of eyeliner such as the famous egyptian princess did.

I'm going outside now to eat a healthy lunch of fruit and veggies. Ever since the day I turned 30 my metabolism has gone on vacation or permanently retired and I've got a sad belly to prove it. I've been trying to deny it's happening but that won't work on the beach this summer. Anyway, there are birds galore in the peak of their spring flirting rituals outside right now and they won't mind my little pouch.

I forgot to report the results of our yard sale.

We sold alot of stuff, but the most expensive item was probably $50. Boy these shoppers like to bargain. Our customers got some great deals. Steals. I put some postcards of my work out to see what they would do for 10¢ a piece but they were overshadowed by my collection of prom jewlery from Express and the 1990's stereo and VCR. I got rid of some toy samples from my days with Zany Brainy, some books, knicknacks, chotchkies, a love seat and my old student art desk (going to a girl who is taking art education in college, bought by her dad. That made me smile. I threw in a free T-square and some vine charcoal for good measure). When all was said and done we made about $270. Not as much as I expected, but we did really price our stuff to sell. We probably could have made a bit more.

We would have made $600 more if I gave in to the secret agent Guitar Man's request. This man came up to me and said, "Are you selling any musical instruments? Any guitars maybe?" and without thinking much I responded, "Actually, I do have two that I was thinking of trading in for an accoustic at some point..." His face lit up and he gave me his story that he was buying for his 24 year old son who was just learning guitar. At first I believed him. But by the time I had my two guitars out of the attic and opened up in front of him his tune changed and I could not sell anything to this man. He was such a secret agent guitar dealer, either looking to add to his guitar store, ebay offerings, or to pawn off to someone else at twice the price. His big wad of hundred dollar bills was the final straw. He wanted to buy my Telly and my Ovation 12 string for $600 total. As I looked down at my babies I had to say no. Especially not the Telly. It's so purty and blue.

Airing out my guitars put a buzz in my brain, maybe you should restring those babies and set one up in your studio and just start jamming again. I haven't played guitar in a serious manner since I dropped my last boyfriend who happened to introduce me to electric guitars. We were in a band together (if you want to call it that... we never played anywhere). I played rythm guitar. We covered alot of Cure songs. I can play just about any classic Cure tune you ask for. I used to try to write my own songs but ex-boyfriend shot them down every time, so I stopped. I have alot of "you're a musical failure" and "so untalented" feelings associated with playing guitar. So picking it up again seems really, really scary. But if I don't... well let's just say that Andrew was very confused as to why I didn't take that guy's $600. It would be a good chunk of cash in the Patio Furniture Fund. But if I were to get rid of either guitar I'd rather trade it in for a 6 string accoustic, nice and simple. I still have a Strat that I'm going to hold onto regardless.

In other news, we're having a girl! Or a b*tch, if you're into that dirty breeder talk. Yay! We're picking her out (there are 3 females in the litter of 9) this coming Sunday. One of the girls a runt... or err, vertically challenged. I'm bringing a camera so I can take lots of pics to hold me over for the next 4 weeks til I get to wrap her up in my lap and take her home. Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's actually going to happen!

Let the name brainstorming officially begin. What would you call a tiny little female Beagle puppy born in March?

Chinstrap Telly ©2004 Catherine Erin Hamilton.

Ok, this is getting out of hand. First there was full-time job opportunity in Minneapolis. I actually got excited about that one but it didn't pan out. I may be able to get some freelance out of it if I play my cards right. Now it seems I am getting one inquiry every week for very cool full-time jobs that require relocation. Last week it was a crayon company. This week it is a party goods and giftware company. I qualify perfectly for all of them. If they were in the Philly area I'd be all over them. But what is with all this are-you-willing-to-relocate-on-the-drop-of-a-dime business? Of course there are perks to leaving a pitiful so-called job for a new, real job that pays better, offers excellent benefits and opportunity for advancement, has employees who have worked there for decades and offers the same stability to me. It all looks real good on paper. It sounds almost perfect. Too good to be true, even.

I suppose I should ask myself: What are the pitfalls of taking such a leap--a calculated risk, as they say--at this point in my life? Oo! Time to make lists.

Pros vs. Cons of Relocating for a Steady Full-Time Design Job
Pros:
1. Better pay.
2. Better benefits.
3. Potential for better coworkers.
4. The satisfaction of saying "I work for so-and-so, Inc."
5. The potential to work for one company from now til retirement.
6. A job that exercises my creativity, and my illustration and design skills.
7. A great resume booster.
8. A more comfortable material lifestyle.
Can't think of any more.

Cons:
1. I love my house. So does my husband.
2. We also love our neighborhood.
3. Our school district is highly ranked.
4. We live within 1 hour of both of our families.
5. We both grew up in this area and have planned on staying here for a long time.
Now the more complicated ones...
6. When I think about taking on a new, full-time job that requires relocation I feel a sense of disappointment in my belly, as if I'm settling for something safe as opposed to a daring, dangerous freelance life.
7. If I'm settling for full-time work for life, what creative freedom am I giving up?
8. The creative styles of these companies are not my style. Once again I may be required to tame my ideas and conform to the company status quo.
9. I want to make a difference. Not on a "Wow what a great crayon package" level, but on a "Wow, I didn't know penguins could do that!" level.
10. I hate the corporate motto of "Sell! Sell! Sell!" and when I am forced to create graphics for that purpose it makes my heart cringe.
11. I do not want to apply silly cartoon characters to balloons and napkins.
12. I want to create my own characters and let someone else put them on balloons and napkins if they want.
13. I want to work from home with my puppy.
14. I want to work from home so that I can stay at home when I have children.
15. I want my ideas to be recognized for what they are, my brain children, my little babies.
16. Big-successful-corporations are not all truly stable, no matter how many billions they made last year.
17. I want a house on the bay where it's quiet and I can sip coffee on the deck in the morning while the birds fly overhead and call out new stories to write and illustrate.

This one could be a Pro or a Con, depending on my mood:
1a. If I take a steady full-time job and relocate I will always have an excuse not to pursue other dreams.

Well... I guess I can see how this weighs out, but I still feel this little voice whispering in my head, "Be responsible. Think of your children. They need stability." Even though I don't have any children.

Could this be the same voice that my Dad has listened to all his life? The same kind of voice that prevented him from teaching at university or becoming a forest ranger, the voice that compelled him to take on banking job after miserable banking job until he reached the top? Dad made it to CEO and President of a local chain. He almost seemed happy there at one point... almost. Then 2 months ago he was forced to sell the small, old-fashioned bank to a larger chain to keep his bank stable for the long-term. He has had to lay off some really good friends and is now reporting to a young and cocky woman who doesn't value his 25 years of experience any more than his $25 pair of shoes (Dad is not a big spender).

Hmm. Interesting. I'll ponder on that. If you asked what I feel in my gut about all this, I'd say "Confused, but leaning towards staying where I am and at least trying to fulfill my current dream. I can't give up yet. I feel so close." I just wish I could see how close that is. It would make these decisions less petrifying for me.

This morning I had some sunshine for breakfast. Then I drove to work, and while stopped at a red light the soft kiss of falling white petals brushed my face as a flowering tree dropped them into my sunroof. I arrived at work, sat down and sipped a cup of SARK. Her newest newsletter is her first html designed message complete with her colorful style and childlike doodlings, and it was the perfect Monday treat. She conjures up the best visuals and sounds with her words:

"I am gratefull to you for reading these words, you adorable flower.
I send you.
The fog racing by the moon from my window.
The twinkling lights through the leaves in my garden.
The ocean at twilight, and the soft, snuffly sound of a sea lion breathing, sweet shelter in a friend's embrace, a distinct memory of something endearing from long ago, and a triple raspberry popsicle."

I like her "I send you" messasges. She also has good ones on her inspiration line (415-546-3742... try it on a gloomy day, it's free other than the toll charge).

In that spirit, I send you:
A hundred thousand chirping birds outside your window (when you're not trying to sleep).
Little fiddleheads uncurling into ferns.
A strawberry banana smoothie, enjoyed in the shade of a flowering tree.
A family of ducks crossing your path.
Silky fluffy dandelion seeds to make wishes upon, and make wishes come true.

I'm taking contributions of equal loveliness. Whaddya got?

Above quote ©2004 SARK.

This I must keep short today, I will really try. I have asked to leave work early so I can join my husband at home who was able to take the whole day off to prepare for the neighborhood yard sale tomorrow. Lots to do, so little time! I asked to leave at 1pm, thinking I was being kind taking a half day rather than a full day on such short notice. It was fine at first. Then CEO found things for me to do, he searched really hard and devised a list to Keep Kate At Work Until 3pm Because I Am The Boss And She Is A Secret Spy. So now I am trying to get the list of crap done before 1pm so I can keep to my original plan. It is a glorious day and it is a crime to make me stay 2 hours longer which is really only 1 hour longer since now I'll have to take lunch. Who wants to bet that there's a backup list to keep me here til 6?

The yard sale sounds like fun though I have heard that yard sales attract a whole different species of human, hardcore yard sale groupies, who do strange things like try to haggle you for selling something for a quarter that they want for a nickel. Never let them in your home, I've been told. They start asking if your couch, your tv, your slippers are for sale. They snoop around and they leave strange smells in your house.

To make things entertaining we're going to be serving up some margaritas for friends who stop by or just for ourselves. Noon is probably late enough for that, right? (Maybe I'll make milkshakes just so I can sing that catchy song...) My friend Megan, her husband and their dog Otter are planning to come late in the day when we'll fire up the charcoals on the grill (one of the best smells in the world) and make burgers and sit out by the creek to eat them. We don't have patio furniture yet so we'll have to improvise. Otter will test our house and our new yard for dogability. She's a funny girl, she lives in the city but she HATES it, hates the city streets, holds in her pee as long as she can to avoid going outside. Barks at every distant fire truck or motorcycle. Refuses to pee on the sidewalk, must stand in the gutter to pee up against the curb. She's a nut. Just look at her.



She looks great in hats. Definitely a hat girl. And what a face! Her nose makes me laugh. Every. Time. I. See. Her. We hope that she gets along with our little pup when we introduce them so they can have pajama parties and stuff. Ott doesn't take a liking to other dogs, especially big ones. She tries to scare them with her ferocious bark and stinky breath. She is no fool. Size does not matter. But Beagles are not much larger than Doxies, especially when they're 2 months old.

She is also not a dog to be ridden, though many do want to ride that dawg. Please resist the temptation to saddle her up.

Alright, it's getting close to 1 so I better get back to work. (Booooooooo! Hisssssssssss!) Yes I know. Have a happy springy weekend. And stop over for some margaritas on Saturday. K?

Snowbird asked for some daily decorations so here starts my new tradition. I have created a bundle of different colors of rickrack... watercolored rickrack of course. This is my sunshine rickrack because it is sunny sunny sunny for the bunny bunny bunnies today. This watercolored rickrack will find its way onto my main site as well, replacing the computerized ricketty racketty. Texture is goodness.

There is all kinds of buzzzz at work because some girl who is an editor or somesuch for a home decor licensing trade magazine is coming to visit the office. I was going to go around and clean up the piles of messes that are everywhere except in my corner... but I decided not to bother. If they don't care, why should I.

Despite the buzz my mind is stuck in dreamland where things are piled up on my head and I am performing a delicate balancing act with no safety net. But... I did pretty much complete our landscaper's website last night. Want to see it? It's called Forbes Landscape Design. Tell me if you see any bugs pretty please. Eventually I'll have some photos of my new yard up there, but they're waiting at the photo developers until I have the cash to pick them up, along with photos from my friends' wedding and some birds. Now that the site is done I can finish up that project and move on to more whimsical things.

Meanwhile, I have been finding all kinds of neato websites, journals, creative advice and so on online this week. And I feel inclined to share rather then keep them all to myself. Besides, a few of them include some birds. Like Tania, her blog is bright and pink like a rose and her artwork is even brighter. Then there is Lorraine who if you visit soon has a very happy sprite on her journal, but you have to see her gallery too. And Puddle Press I have only begun to explore. Cute little buttons. Another place I found but haven't delved into yet--the Creative Postcard Club--which seems to be a wonderful collaborative thing. Collaboration is good. I want to do some. I have ideas. And finally... now this is really scary, I am warning you now... Human Descent. I only went there because a friend, thinking of me, sent me this:



If you think that's scary, well beware that it is one of the cute ones, as is this:



The scary ones are the human aliens. Brilliant though--some of the creatures give me story ideas, oddly enough. Such as the zebra-catepillar. It's crazy but cool and kinda cute.

Ok, enough for now. You should be pretty well distracted for the rest of the day. In the meantime, I am quietly chuckling at the current buzz in the office--now that the editor is here CEO has done everything in his power to keep her away from me. I swear. He actually told her that I "clean things up, oh and help us with design." Ha! I even purposely avoided cleaning things up. Ah well. When she started inquiring about the pictures on my wall--the original watercolors I've done here, the detailed drawings-- he awkwardly wisped her away into another room. Now I hear him running down his own list of buzzzz words. "As designers we design designs that represent the designy elements of classical design and we develop a design from a design... designing decorative accessory giftware blah blah blah. I am a designer, did I tell you that? I design." It's lovely. I laugh, I really do. I feel like a dangerous secret weapon... or Cinderella, beaten down, hidden and abandoned by those who are threatened by her beauty. Cue the violins... ok, I'm being dramatic. Yes I am. Fairy godmother, can you hear me?

The woman, by the way, is a spitting image of Jodie Foster. She put some freckles on as a disguise, but I see right through them. I like her, I can tell she's Good People. I'm holding on to her business card for myself.

There are two words in dream job: dream and job. You gotta love the work that goes along with the dream. A lot of people don’t plan for that work that comes along with the dream.
--Deena Katz, author and financial planner

April showers. Well if they bring May flowers, then I can't wait until May! 'Tis so soggy, soppy, squishy mushy wet in my yard that I cannot walk on it. I believe I'd sink right down to China. Although I've always wanted to get caught in quicksand, it always seemed so mysterious in TV shows as a kid. Whatever happened to shows where the lady gets caught in quicksand and the hero comes along and saves her? Can someone come along now and save me?

When I left my house this morning I hesitated before getting in my car. I looked around, smelled the wet earth, listented to the chipper birds, watched a pair of ducks fly overhead. I thought to myself, "This is why I want to work from home." Somehow it seems that the very moment I leave for work every day is the most perfect moment to stay home and enjoy the neighborhood. It is so quiet after everyone else has left for their busy jobs, busy schools, busy errands... I relish in the desertedness of it. It is so different from Saturday mornings when everyone is buzzing around their homes with their yard work and their house projects and taking trips to the park. Our little street seems so content, relaxed and relieved at 9 am, Monday through Friday. And so do I... until I get into that car. That is where the dread begins. I really hope that Howard Stern does not get pulled off the air because he is such a great comic relief on my commute, even if only for 15 minutes. Less commercials is what I say.

So there, that's a nice, vivid reminder to myself of why I am spending all my free time at night working on my goals. Slowly I chip away at the layers and layers of dirt surrounding the bones of my dreams. Sometimes I'm not sure what final form these bones will take but I keep going, shifting spots once and again when I have to. You gotta start with the big, heavy tools first. That's the hard part. I want to rush to the delicate brushing away of the last coat of dust--right away. Now. But that brush ain't gonna get me nowhere yet.

Now how's that for an analogy? A metaphor even. I feel all "AP English" and such.

Tonight's chipping away will include the continuation of my website design (it's beginning to evolve a little differently, but at least it's evolving...), printing samples for an opportunity, and finishing the landscaping project. I'm gonna need a bigger axe. Jackhammer, anyone?

* * * * * * * * * *
P.S. There are some great articles about such things at RightOnTheMoney.com. But beware, there is a strong streak of left-brained financial realism in the advice given, unlike some of the more inspirational coaches. I think it's probably a good thing, or at least better than ignoring financial matters such as I do. How do those left-brainers do it?

If you haven't noticed already, I love photos. Especially old photos of things I've forgotten. I have tons of them stashed in boxes in my studio closet, mostly unmarked but still in their envelopes. Pretty organized for my family. My mother's photo filing method is called Stuff Them In The Drawer. Now, the Drawer has filled up many times over the years to the point that you can't get it open anymore. At that point the next stage is to Throw Them In a Box to Clear out the Drawer for the newer photos. The result of which is a multitude of old brown boxes stuffed lovingly with decades of photographs in no chronological or thematic order. Complete photo chaos. Going through them has a certain unpredictable messy spontaneity about it that no neatly-organized photo album collection could ever afford.

When I was at my parents' house for Easter my sisters pulled out a few of the beforementioned boxes stuffed with at least 20 years of photos to sort through--just as I was leaving. Andrew was ready to go and that means ready to go now, so he literally had to physically remove me from the chaos for fear of losing me in the pile (piles of old photos--almost as good as piles of puppies). I did manage to grab 2 that made my heart go "Awwwww...!" and I would have grabbed a dozen more had I not been pulled abruptly away from the group like a fish on a hook.

Anyway, here is a photo of me and 2 of my sisters.


Claire (0), Katie (6) and Maureen (4) make a Diaper Box Fort, c. 1980

Can you tell anything about our personalities?

I can't tell you the exact date it was taken because according to the stamp on the back of the picture, it was developed in 1990. Which is why it really looked like this...



...before I photoshopped the heck out of it. I am guessing that it was taken in 1980 because that's when Claire was born. Note the period Holly Hobbie doll and shag rug. Yes my hair is still that thick.

I also got away with one drawing I did in 1987. I'll scan that later. I am determined to repossess my entire library of childhood drawings for scanning, archiving and preserving. These things can be worth big money one day you know. I want to be able to pass them down to my righteous and worthy heirs who will undoubtedly open a world renowned art museum in my name. (We can all dream, right?)

I'm taking it that these pups didn't sit still for the camera.


Jenny, the mommy of nine.


Wook at the smooshy wooshy wooshy...


What a cute wittle puppy wuppy, so smooshy wooshy wooshy!


I see you, you widdle wuv bug... do you want to be my wovey dovey?

Sorry, these pictures bring out the baby talk in me. I want to smoosh them all over my cheeks.

Look what the Easter Penguin emailed me today...


Jenny's puppies, 2 weeks old.

Somewhere squirming in their is our little pride and joy!

Enjoy your eggies!
The Easter Penguin ©2004 Catherine Erin Hamilton

Thought I'd write more, but I can't now.

OMA
ROSA

Gotta watch!

My Very Interesting Meeting was a portfolio review with a local publisher that went well but was very quick and hurried because my interviewee had to step out of a Very Urgent Meeting to meet with me. I can only call the meeting a success if I successfully follow up on it in a positive and professional manner. New item on the to do list.

I also got to meet Alicia in person which was great! What a gorgeious girl. Good luck on the house bid, Alicia!

In the meantime, I've begun my site redesign--take a look at it and tell me what you think of the basics that are there. There is sooooo much more to do! Slowly but surely I chip away at the to-do monolith. Still gotta rework my official logo; what's there is temporary.

More later. Gotta do the other job.

Wow. Today I was sitting at work and I received a phone call on my cell from one of my former co-workers from my last good job. "Kate, I see your car! I'm right outside!" I didn't know what the hay she was talking about. Lo and behold, Lady K and Miss Alexis have come to my rescue! They have been moving into an empty studio in the same building complex as my office for the past few weeks and I didn't even know it. They didn't either until they talked to Miss April who has been here before and put two and two together. So what does this mean? Wonderful things! Lunch buddies! Coffee break buddies! Happy hour buddies! All within footsteps of my office. I am overjoyed.

By the way, the building I work in is kinda cool. I don't think I've ever told you. It is a converted old mill building. When I say old, I mean, like, George Washington old. Revolutionary War old. "This here is a historical site" sign old. It's pretty neat; one of the few saving graces of my 9 to 6 job. There is a wild rushing stream outside the gigantic industrial windows and it is surrounded by steep hills covered in old trees. Birds' songs echo from heights my eyes cannot reach. The property borders a multi-acre nature conservancy where I sometimes visit at lunch time. Now I can visit with friends instead of being so, so alone.

Neatest thing--my friends are starting their own design studio. Hmmm. This is something that many of us dreamed about right before we were all laid off due to Chapter 7. Wouldn't it be nice to start our own studio? Wouldn't it be great, no stuffy CEOs and VPs and MBAs and VIPs... just a bunch of creatively inclined, brilliant people working together who happen to be friends and get along like peas in a pod? Hmmm...

CEO's mother is already quietly and politely suspicious. I gave the girls a tour of my company's office and my little corner in the "sample room." CEOMom was very nice to everyone as she is a very sweet 75 year old socialite, but as they were leaving she said as cutely as possible, "You can't take Kate with you, she belongs to us!" "We'll have to watch Kate now, make sure she doesn't disappear over in your place!"

CEO is away, I'm certain that he'll be suspicious when he returns next week. Thinking it was all my evil plan, to invite my creative friends from my favorite old job to move into this mill so that I can plan and plot and work my way over there. Right after I finish spilling all the company secrets of the day with our competitors and run my p*rn ring. Then I'll secretly work for him and them at the same time, running back and forth office to office pretending like I'm two people with two different names like Elaine or George in a very funny Seinfield episode. Hey there CEO, maybe I will do that. Thanks for the idea!

Time to go home and have beers on the new deck. The air smells sweet and the breeze is warm with Spring.

Later that day...

I have noticed that my writing suffers when I limit myself to 7 minutes. I came home and grabbed my beer and poured it in my frosted mug and sat down on the couch with Andrew playing PlayStation at my side and turned on my laptop so I could go back and colorize my writing a bit more. Now that I've done that I will write more because I couldn't write a single email ALL DAY because I was backed into a corner and not allowed more than 2 minutes in front of my big 22 inch flat screen. Why did they buy it for me again?

I have a Very Interesting Appointment tomorrow and I hope it goes well. I bought 3 new pairs of pants and a pair of shoes for the occasion. Shopping Alert: There are alot of kick*ss sales going on right now. I feel like it's been years since I hit the stores and I felt so deprived and so out of touch with what is going on, and it is ALL ON SALE. At Lord and Taylor I bought my to-die-for shoes 1 pair of pants, sleek black slacks with tiny white pinstripes. Very professional. But the pants are 4 inches too long (6 inches without the to-die-fors on) and resemble a pair of oversized pajamas at that length so I tried (in vain) to take them to not one but two dry cleaners this morning to have them hemmed, asking to have them back the same day. "No, sorry, not today." Rats. Throughout the day I heard a little voice in my head repeating a calming mantra: Ann Taylor. Ann Taylor. Pants at Ann Taylor. So despite my being slightly (ahem) sticky and clammy from my workout at lunchtime I headed straight to Ann Taylor on my way home. And whaddya know. My little voice was right. Pants. Lots of pants. Slacks, trousers, pantaloons. At first I tried them all on in my normal size but alas, these were too long as well. Who has legs that long, I ask you? Feeling pressured for success I wandered over to the Petite section. I have never bought anything in the Petite section. Is 5'4" petite? I've never thought so. But due to the apparent recent influx of Superhuman Women, 5'4" is now Petite. I tried on a pair and ta-daaaaaa! A perfect fit. Unbelievable. Petite, I'm petite. That's not such a horrible thing to say (well, down bottom anyway. My torso is snake-like). Freed from the petite stigma I bought two pairs of the same pants in different colors. I have read in InStyle that to do so is a good move. If you like a shirt/pantaloon/panty/bra alot, why not buy it in every color it comes in? You like it don't you? I restrained myself and bought just two. And a pretty pinkish purplish sweater for $19.99. Swweeeeeet.

I still have alot to do tonight. But at least I can sleep well knowing that I bought two pairs of pants in two different colors that fit me perfectly to choose from tomorrow morning. AND new shoes. Isn't life wonderful?

It would be more wonderful if I could have afforded to go nuts and buy every cute little halter dress they had... yummy.

Love e-letters:


> Hey baby,
>
> Have you talked to Forbes? I need feedback! What else is going down?
>
> How about your Mom, have you talked to her about Easter?
>
> Email or call when you get in. Love ya more than birdies.
> xoxo
> me


Hey, I love you more than birdies too. A lot more than birdies. Way more than birds. I love you so much more than birds that it shouldn't be in the same phrase. So here it is, I love you more than those little flying things that crap all over everything.

I put calls into both my Mom and Andrew. Nether of them have called back.
I'll call you when I leave for school.

Love you,

BirdieDog


> You're funny.
>
> I guess you don't love me more then penguins then, because they don't fly.
> They do crap though.
>
> xoxo
>Kate


Your right, they don't fly. However, they are still considered birdies.
So, I do love you more than those things that crap over everything and have wings and some actually fly while others waddle.

Xoxoxo

andrew

Is it not common courtesy, that when you ask an employee to skip their lunch because there is alot of work to do, after they eat the horrible hoagie you ordered them without asking, that you should actually GIVE THEM SOMETHING TO DO. Especially after they rescheduled their gym/trainer appointment when they only have a week left in their gym membership?

Thankfully the rest of the week will be CEO-less. And I have a very interesting lunch meeting on Thursday which is one of my potential opportunities that I cannot let slip and I need to buy a new pair of pants for. What kind of pants does the fashion world expect me to wear in April? Why don't they design in between clothing and fabrics? My wool looks too wooly, and the capris in the store windows just won't do. Maybe Ann Taylor is the answer. Of course their pants may require a tailor, and I just don't have time for that. I'd go to Banana Republic but their pants only fit well the first time. Once they are washed or dry cleaned they morph into the most misshapen garments ever created, more suitable for a Manatee or other lumpy creature than for me. I could try Anthropologie too, but that could be risky because on any given day everything in their store may have a huge bumblebee sewn on it or a mexican hat or somesuch.

Ok, seven minutes are up! So sorry... Alright, I need to impart some kind of inspiration or wisdom today. How about a visit to my friend Sherry's blog. She is currently volunteering as an art teacher in Costa Rica. Her stories will put you in a completely dreamy daze. I suggest that you start at the beginning.

Maybe you'll be inspired enough to shop for one of Alicia's bags when you're done. I *heart* mine.

*Whew* It is winnnnnnnnnnndy today. I like windy days though, they remind me of Mary Poppins. There's something kinetic about the wind's gusty energy.

I got alot done on our landscaper's website this weekend. It feels good, despite my heavy eyes from working until 2:30 am EDT by the light of my laptop. I love daylight savings, and I hate it. I hate it for one week while I adjust to the new morning schedule. But beyond that it is a big pick-me-up, especially as I leave work for the day and the sun is still shining at 6... or 7pm. Happy summer days on the deck and patio are ahead.

But wait, I am not ready for summer! My gym membership expires next week and... do I dare tell you how many gym visits I made since last April? My gym workouts are recorded for a health insurance reimbursement program. You need to record 120 workouts in one year to qualify for a nice little refund. Let's just say that I am, oh, a third of the way there. Think I can fit in 80 workouts between now and next Friday? I would love to renew (despite my lack of will power) but my very true excuse is that our puppy will be arriving in late May. This means my mornings, lunches and evenings will be dedicated to saving our hardwood floors from droppings and the like. Maybe it is just an excuse to skip the gym, but I believe it is completely valid. And to pay what they charge per month is just ridiculous if I am not going to use it at least 2 times a week. Highly doubtful, I say. Sad but true. If I were super dedicated, one of those early morning people who get up at 5 to work out, it might be different. But no, not me. I hate hate hate working out. Mostly because of the sweat. I sweat way more than your average female without even raising my heart rate. I think I get it from my Dad.

So in preparation for bikini season I will have to create my own home workout routine that will consist of many puppy walks, puppy jogs, puppy chasing and perhaps puppy lifting. I have a few free weights and the trainer at the gym said that I can get a very effective workout with just those combined with traditional exercises like push-ups and squats. I don't know what I hate more, machines that do all the thinking at the crowded gym, or free weights that allow me to sweat at home during commercials. Well, I guess thighs will tell. I mean... time.

On the dream job front, another opportunity popped up over the weekend which gives me one more thing to act on that I can't get to right now but I have to. What do you do when you have to do something but you can't but you have to? I'm trying to think of bits of time that I waste during the week that could be used more productively. Those bits are most definitely the ones I spend online. I go online and I totally lose track of everything around me. Like now. I've been typing this and editing this for, oh, 20 minutes? So if I blog for 20 minutes a day times 5 work days equals 100 minutes which is an hour 40 minutes... oh it still isn't enough. But it is something. Hmm.

Ok, so I hearby declare that this week I will spend no more than 7 minutes writing journal entries every day. Why seven? Five is just not enough. And as soon as I hit 8 then I might as well do 10, and then... that is when I start losing track of time. So you can expect some shorter entries this week. Spend your extra 10 reading minutes doing something creative, how about that?

So, as you remember I was in Long Island last weekend for our friends' wedding. Andrew was in the wedding party and therefore I found myself hanging out with friends of friends during all the inbetween parts. After the ceremony and before the reception this odd little tribe decided to visit a bar to grab a quick bite to eat and some beers. There were 5 of us and I was really the odd one out.

This kind of situation is one that makes me squirm inside. I've never been much of a social butterfly and any ability I have to spark conversations with strangers can be attributed to my husband, the account manager. He can talk to anyone. I, on the other hand, find myself particularly shy around: 1. Girls my age, 2. Groups of people that have been friends since high school, 3. Non-conversationalists such as myself, 4. Many others. I have been overcoming my insecurities as of late but there is a certain point where I lose my energy to keep conversation going or participate at all. I am very bad at being a fake and when I'm feigning interest I'm sure everyone knows it.

So the 5 of us entered this dark bar in Long Island (where happily no one is permitted to smoke indoors, how refreshing--well at least for me) and I sat down in a corner seat near a wall so I would have only one person next to me with which to converse. Luckily the girl next to me was a girl my age that I actually really like. And I would have had free-flowing laughs with her had there not been another girl there who knew her better. Uncomfortably I listened and responded to "Remember that time..." and "Kate have you ever met____? No? Well anyway, he..." stories for as long as I could, nodding and smiling a plastic smile that made my cheeks hurt. Just as I was letting my cheeks relax a subject came up in which I could comfortably interject. The subject, of course, was birds.

Our landscaper friend (boyfriend of the Girl I know) started talking about his last party which Andrew and I had attended in January. During this party I was given a tour of the Chicken Coup. Living where I do, it is not everyday that I encounter a Chicken Coup with real live chickens and giant turkeys living inside. I remember the chickens and turkeys fondly. Aah, birds. When our landscaper friend started talking about them, I interjected, "I saw them! I got a tour of the chicken coup. I wanted to pet them but they wouldn't let me."

Awkward silence. I heard my voice echo in my head realizing I sounded like a 3 year old just home from her first trip to the zoo.

Landscaper friend continued his story and went on to say that later that night when most of the guests had left, he engaged in some turkey tossing. That is, he and a friend tossed the turkeys one by one back and forth to each other. Of course I gasped in horror. "Where they ok? Why did you do that?" He laughed and said they were fine, after all, turkeys are designed to fly and land safely. Ok then. At that point the visual of this guy tossing turkeys became funny instead of horrific. Especially because these turkeys are almost as tall as him. (Or, he is almost as short as the turkeys, depending on your perspective.) I then cleverly asked if Turkey Tossing was a sport, and would that then make him a Turkey Tosser? Laughs all around.

Whew. That's better.

Our landscaper friend went on about how he avoided the turkeys for a few weeks after that and one day when he was on his way out to his truck he saw three of them making a beeline for him. He ran back inside. Now that's funny. When he offered some pretzels to the turkeys they quickly forgot any humiliation they had suffered and were friendly once again. Aww, that's nice. Then he continued, "You know, someone ate all the chickens last week."

And I gasped. "You mean you don't know who? Who ate them?"

"No no, some THING ate the chickens. Like a hawk or something," he reassured me.

The group then deliberated that a hawk could not get into the coup so the perpetrator must have been a small fox or large rodent--personally, I'd go with a fox over a rat. The chickens were attacked but the turkeys being as large as they are went unscathed. I began to visualize the scene: It is a cold, dark night. The chickens and turkeys are sleeping safely in their coup, eyes closed, huddled together and cooing softly in the moonlight. Sly as a fox, a (errr...) fox slyly stalks the unknowing birds and slips in through a gap in the chicken wire. He wastes no time; he goes in for the kill. "BOK! BOK BOK BOK BOK!" The chickens exclaim, suddenly awakened by the sound of their bretheren panicking in the jaws of the fox. "GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE!" scold the turkeys but in vain; the fox has moved on to his next victim without hesitation. One by one he consumes the chickens, the turkeys looking on helplessly, hopelessly.

My gosh, I think to myself. That must have been awful. Only I didn't think it, I said it out loud and found myself in yet another awkward silence with 4 people staring at me looking bewildered.

"I mean, for the turkeys. That must have been horrifying. I mean really, can you imagine? Seeing your friends being eaten alive, right in front of your eyes... that's so violent!"

The awkward silence grew more awkward and silent. It felt like the entire bar had shushed to hear the crazy bird lady speak. And you know, I really believed they would all be like, "Wow, yeah, that must have been horrible. Those poor turkeys! They'll be scarred for life." But no one understood. I could see it in their eyes. Half grinning, half grimmacing on my behalf. Meanwhile I can't get the vision out of my head and am on the verge of tears for the sake of these poor birds. I still can't shake it. It is sad, isn't it?

Isn't it?

I can feel you staring at me, half grinning, half grimmacing on my behalf. Grimmace not, I am not embarrassed or ashamed. I am Kate and I am a birdaholic.

If on the other hand you understand and can empathize with the turkeys as I do, well then you are definitely a friend.

Thank. God. It. Is. Friday.

I went home for lunch today and enjoyed some time watching my birds. 6 Juncos, 1 White Throated Sparrow, 1 Grackle, 1 Mourning Dove, 1 Chickadee and happily, one House Sparrow utilizing one of my birdhouses on the front porch. Yay! Baby birdies comin' my way. I'm putting on a happy face. :)

I took some pictures of the yard as it is right now and will have them developed so I can post them here. I also took pictures of my friend's wedding flowers that she left in my care during her honeymoon. They were on their last breath, so I took them out of their vase and hung them upside down to dry them. I hope they turn out ok. But I do have the photos and plan to do a little painting of her flowers for her at some point... when time allows.

It occurred to me on the way back to work (grrr) that in February or March I had written in my "dream book" a list of strict requirements for my next job. I also wrote that I wanted this job to be in place by the time we get our dog. That means between now and May 24th. (Funny, originally it would have been last weekend had the first litter been born. Hmmmm.) Maybe, just maybe, this explains why suddenly all these miscellaneous opportunities are piling up on my head? Like, if I was able to accomplish them all between now and D-Day (aka Doggy Day) I might--just might--be able to pick up shop and move on. It could be one of those "be careful what you wish for" scenarios that I have read so much about in Suzanne Falter-Barns' newsletters, or could it have been one of Gail McKeekin's mini lessons? Anyhoo, it was one of these that prompted me to make the list of job requirements in my dream book. I thought these requirements were a little far fetched and surely wouldn't come true any time soon--right? But could this trick be working? Could Suzanne and Gail be right?

Why don't you try it and see if it works for you. Let me know it's going in 30 days, then 60.

Get a new gig in 60 days or less:

Think about your true Dream Job. Where would it be? With whom? Doing what? What kind of benefits? Who is your boss? Be specific--as painfully detailed as possible. Make a list of your requirements for your new job, then put it away. Keep it someplace safe, someplace inspired. See what happens. (I seem to remember the last sentence being, "don't be surprised if it just falls on your doorstep one day!")

I can report that after 40 days I suddenly have a bounty of possibilities and opportunities that I cannot grab at fast enough. So the question remains: now what? Isn't this the moment of truth where I either take everything and run with it, or drop it all and run away? I do not want to run away. I have done that before and it has never taken me anywhere interesting.

I think I'll ask for some more free time in my dream book right now.