It's 3am, and the world is still except for a random shuffle of 40s jazz, 50s folk, and 60s rock issuing from my laptop. I've just completed a 'death march' project, working 80 hours/week for the past three weeks, and I should be in bed catching up on some much needed sleep. Instead, teabags pile up like cigarette butts in an ashtray, marking a long and contemplative evening.
I complained over three years ago that my life was in a holding pattern, and in many ways it still feels that way. I haven't settled down, and will likely move twice more this year before I can. There are things I want to do -- take a college course, do some volunteer work, buy a guitar -- that I can't do until I move/buy a car/renew my work permit/etc. It feels like there's always something else I have to do before I can do what I want.
Of course, compared to three years ago when I was sleeping on an inflatable bed, I've made great strides, and I'm moving closer every day. Perhaps it's because the goal is in sight that I'm suddenly so impatient for it to arrive.
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