resume...

On the verge of a desperation-driven meltdown... My hands don't quite know what to do with themselves and I can hardly concentrate on the task at hand. I need something new, something fresh, something that excites me. I need to feel like I have a purpose, like what I do matters. At the end of the day, I turn off my computer, drive home and have little to say to my husband about my day. Each day is no different than the last. Humdrum, ho hum, twiddle my thumbs. And yet the fear of not finding something better holds me back; the hesitation in the knowledge that I might have to stretch my means and break from this cell of a daily pattern stirs an unwelcome discomfort. I want to do what I'm passionate about; I want to rediscover the skills that have fallen into the dusty, cramped crevices of my heart and mind. Is it too much to ask to want to feel like my work is worth something? I have so many beginnings stored away lacking a fitting conclusion. I need to grasp an alternative plot - I need to hold onto it so tightly that I can think of nothing else until I've attained what it is I'm striving for. I need to ignore the excuses that keep conjuring themselves up in my mind, push them over the edge of banality and climb toward extraordinary... I deserve that much.