Fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions
My brain is not braining and my English is not Englishing, but who cares for grammar on this fine Friday? The first long sunny weekend has started, and I am counting down 'til it's a respectable hour for the first cocktail of the day.
I am a person who flourishes in the cold. Not in clouded or rainy weather, but true 'temperature cold'. Give me freezing weather—that milky winter sun low on the horizon. Give me the crunching of your footsteps on the ground, your warm breath in a cloud, and the needle pricks of the cold in your lungs.
What I am not is a sunbather, or as we call them, a "sunbeater.".
As soon as the temperature rises above 25 degrees Celsius, my proactive sweat glands go into full panic mode and decide that every drop of water that is not directly used for vital processes shall be sacrificed for the greater good.
I am used to sliding off of every surface possible in the summer, like an ice cube gone rogue on a kitchen counter. Truly it is almost a superpower, albeit not as useful in my day-to-day life.
This is all to say that even for a person like me, the ending of this long and dreary rainy period will be celebrated! But the hot weather brings something else with it: intrusive thoughts.
Let it be known that this is not a time in my life where I want to reflect too much on choices and actions. The hot rays beating down on my head seem to bring out the worst of what is hiding in the corners of my mind, and I would rather they stay where they are. Thank you very much.
I've been feeling very insecure lately. People often tell me I always look so sure of what to say and what to do that I take action when needed and seem to have my ducks in a row.
The truth is, I've just been lucky. And I am a decent liar.
I don't know what I am doing.
I have stumbled into my current line of work by accident, due to a lack of alternatives. I knew I had to make money, so I followed its trail. From afar, it may have looked like logical choices were made. I'll be the last to pretend that, by some grand scheme, I landed where I am now, and I'll be the last to actually advise people to do the same.
The time has come that my brain is demanding answers, and I cannot seem to conceive a decent answer.
Do I actually like this type of work? Will I really be doing this for the rest of my life? But what else am I capable of with my very specific degree? Do I need to go back to school? But it would take a great hit on our family budget if I went back now... Do I even want to change? Or am I just running away when it's difficult?
It seems like the cold makes these thoughts more rigid and unmoving, holding them in place for at least a while. Heat is more unforgiving that way; you better clean out your drawers, or they will empty themselves.
…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ
My current job at the drug development company might soon be ending, and I am conflicted. On one hand, I am truly glad. I've yet to receive any assignment that falls within my job description, and working up the courage to start the day knowing you have to work on random mail templates and communication plans is tiring.
On the other hand, I am afraid to fall still and without work. I'll still be a consultant, so I will probably be kept on payroll, but it is a mostly unpleasant period.
The wonderful blogposts by Ree, the price of happiness, and by Tiramisu, premortem, live rent free in my head these days. We all are just trying our best, aren't we?
Another cog in the machine,
Rat
…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ
"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions.
You change direction but the sandstorm chases you.
You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this
out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn.
Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away,
something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you.
Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step
right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears
so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.
There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time.
Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones.
That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent,
metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic
it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like
a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed
too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own
blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through,
how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether
the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out
of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what
this storm's all about."
— Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)