This morning I woke up an hour before my alarm. A little wave of loathing broke in my stomach. Vacation is over. Back to strained, one-sided conversations in whispers at my desk-side. Complaining about our boss, mostly. Completely useless and bogging, really. I don't care. I'm just here to make the best of what I've been given. I don't want to talk about it and I'm not on your side:

I've boiled the problem down to one person. Wicked Lady. The source of all that is horrible at work. She's gossipy, lazy, and unintelligent. And I work under her.

And that's life.

Let's begin anew tomorrow and see how it goes.

Here is where my thinking is going:

A very dear and far away friend of mine had an idea. To start a pitbull rescue farm in the northwest. The start-up money is taken care of, we're hoping, but haven't found out yet fully.

It might be carrying big buckets of food out to dozens of grinning dogs in the morning when it is still quiet all around. It could be making my own schedule and finding myself strong and willing to do work that I am proud of. It could mean employing a few choice, dear friends and family and working around people that I love.

It could also mean putting off having kids. Which is an unshakable dream/plan of mine. I love to love. I want to create it.

It could also mean moving out of Portland.

So I'm mulling. Quietly. I don't see many options for me otherwise. I don't see many options for some people that I love otherwise. So...so there it is. My life's work is this writing thing, you know, and I can do that anywhere. I can do that most easily if I am happy and not trapped up with anger and sadness. Something's gotta give. Dogs and buckets of food and quiet mornings could give that to me.