in which there are 15 days left


It looks nothing like this today, but who cares? I'm tempted to say something intensely cheesy like, "This is what I feel like on the inside," but that's really not me. It's here because it's pretty: pretty Parrish clouds from Sunday afternoon.


"How many days left?" is how folks have been greeting me lately. I have that count down to the hours these days.

The second question is always, "What will you do next?" I love, love, love watching people's reactions when I tell them that I'm leaving this business to run my own thing, from home. I love telling people I'm going to be creative for a living. I love telling people that I'm going to start gardening, that I dream about baking bread, that I hope to eventually get some sheep, a goat, some chickens. I love telling people that I'm considering writing about and possibly teaching sustainable living techniques. It is always such a shock. People think I'm pulling their leg.

I cannot wait. I cannot wait. I have an image of the life I want to live- I've been working on this image for a while now- and I'm so damned close. A life that I completely own, where I work at my things, where I listen to my music all day and get slowly more and more covered in dye stains. I'm looking forward to dropping my daughter off at school every morning, to baking bread in the afternoons while I soak yarn, to listening to NPR and working in color. My New Life involves so many things I'd never expected to want- I mean, baking? Aprons? Talk radio? Gardens? None of it fits into the me I'd spent the last few years building- Business Me, Suit Me.

I couldn't be gladder to shed all of this, to shed Suit Me, to drop the corporate mess and the email chains, the reports and the staff meetings, all the people blaring ego ego ego like a cheap neon light. I lay in be each night and I fight to sleep, dreaming up a smaller life.

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