Wednesday, August 20,
2025
Time: 5:19 PM
Song: Alibi
Artist: Hurray for the Riff Raff
Mode of Consumption: Listening to MP3s on shuffle on the way home from work.
Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/1hS3RXEQbXtWgYpot2Ay07?si=c6457f2cde754764
I completed a statement
of interest today for an opportunity with the state’s Department of Transportation.
That’s part of the job. I’ve spent the better part of the week working on the
various documents, resumes and other required pieces of the submittal.
We put our best foot
forward, but likely we won’t win the job. I won’t go into the why, because
there could be a dozen reasons why we aren’t selected.
We won’t find out
for a few months, and by then, I’ll probably have forgotten most of the work I put
into it.
It’s hard to be satisfied
in that process.
Back in the
newspaper days, there was a daily product. A section that I could pick up the
next day and either feel good about or dread looking at. Most of the time it
was somewhere between. Good things here, not so good things there. Satisfaction
was fleeting, precariously sitting on the edge of doom when an error became
obvious.
With writing
fiction, it can be just as frustrating.
I might get a piece
that I think is ready for publication, but then I get a dozen rejections, and
wonder if I should think again.
Even pieces that are
published I look back at and consider revising here or there. Or maybe I should
do more with them.
The satisfaction is
confused with emotions and uncertainty.
Later tonight, I
push mowed part of our yard. Our riding mower is in the shop. I can only get maybe
a quarter of the two-acre yard done before dark.
I sit on our porch
and feel pretty good about it, even though I know I still have more to do.
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