The Fire

In an attempt at clarifying my last post: The truth is I didn't run out of ideas. I just had so many ideas, so many things happening to me, all at once, at what seemed like warp speed, I couldn't even stop to take a breath let alone sit, contemplate, and write about it.

I am still in the job that I don't want in the city that I do, but since I last put hand to keyboard I have been promoted, and taken on so many new responsibilities I can't always remember what happened 20 minutes ago, or where I left my keys so I can go home to sleep for a few precious hours before having to return to the deadline that never seemed to end.

I was flattered by the promotion, and so far I have taken it extremely seriously - working 90-hour weeks and trying to make as many changes as I have the power to. But this magazine, this office, was turning long before I stepped onto the stage. I know for sure that I didn't start this fire, but in the effort to satisfy some personal goal to be a success at this, I have started to put out the flames with my bare hands, which is simply exhausting.

Of course all deadlines end eventually, and my first ended almost as uneventfully as the others. I am avoiding the calls from co-workers, even though they are some of closest friends, because I know that inadvertently the conversation may drift back to talk of "The Office," and my shoulders tense up and begin to tingle with pain. I will see them at work and apologize for not returning their calls next week, I think to myself. Just a few more hours to enjoy the quiet.

But the quiet does not hold me for long, because my brain is racing about tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

In the heart of last week's deadline, I took a short lunch break with a co-worker. We had made a rule that there would be no talk of the office during this much-needed venture outside those four walls, which left us with absolutely nothing to say. We sat, quietly, until my cell phone rang. My shoulders once again began to tense. It's my editor, I thought, there is something she needs, something I haven't done....why can't I even get out for 20 f-ing minutes without a call from that b---

But it wasn't a number I recognized. I picked up. A woman began to speak. She was from Human Resources at The Associated Press, looking to schedule an interview. I got a cramp in my stomach. I made the appointment, trying to remain as calm as I could possibly be after receiving the call I had been waiting for for two years. The call I was beginning to admit, that I thought would never come.

So as I sit here, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, my shoulders are tense again. Not because of deadlines, or angry bosses, or added responsibility. But because my future is going to be decided tomorrow morning, at 11 a.m., when I walk into the offices of The AP.

Sure, if I don't get the job, other things will come along. But for some reason, this time, this interview is different. The stakes are higher, much higher, and I just hope that it's my time to jump out of the fire.