the wall.

It's finally happened. I've reached the point at which I need to run. I've wondered for sometime now how people have lasted for long at my job. Years. Years, upon years.

I recalled a time when I felt pressured by my family to do great things, quickly. Someone was always forcing the idea of an early death on me (my mom); I felt as though I needed to succeed as soon as possible: Before time was up. I've managed to make time stop. I've at least managed to fool myself into believing in this theory. I have tomorrow. I have no rush.

I love my job.

I feel such genuine pleasure in hearing someone say that they can "tell that [I] love [my] job." Hospitality is a forte of mine; I've always wanted to be a housewife. Yet unfortunately I think/feel/know that I'm meant to be more than that. I actually have to DO something. People keep asking me what my dream job is. I never want to work again.

I want to be a professional hobbyist and mother.

But I suppose I owe the world one good trick in the meantime.

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