I always swore that the only career I anted was a family–and that society was cruel because it didn’t allow me to express that or reach for it without judging me for “wasting my talents”, etc. I bemoaned that fact that I was drifting and couldn’t find focus; and that the only thing I wanted to do with my life, I had no control over, because you can’t force love. (Though, as you know, I tried ;) I was doomed to float about unfulfilled and uninspired. sob.
Then, a month ago, when I began to understand my new role, I suddenly found myself thinking about work when not at work. Huh. I found myself *not* obsessing about boys! (GASP!) Then I got promoted, and the new work began. The transition was insanely busy, because I had seventeen projects to hand over in one week. I didn’t have time to breathe. Now they’re all handed over, and my workload has lessened dramatically, but I am still thinking about work outside work. I find myself constantly thinking of ideas to apply in the office, people to talk to, and wanting to read literary non-fiction!
Most importantly, I don’t really care about the boys that much anymore. I have met one more interesting chap, whom we shall call Chocolate Boy, but really, I have stuff to think about–can’t waste every minute interpreting everything he says or does! It’s most liberating.
The disturbing realization I had yesterday, however, was that apparently I have been so obsessive about boys over the past six months that all my friends interpret every statement I make in the context of a boy. Telling Scoo how I gotta read more litfic, I said I have to push. Chocolate Boy? she asked me, leading to me moaning and saying nooooooooo myself! to read litfic!
But I guess I can’t blame people for taking my years of protestations seriously!
P.S. Any literary fiction recommendations? Published after 1990, not too depressing, not Young Adult? Am thinking of doing a series of reviews/responses to the litifc I read. And ahem also finish the Mahabharata.