On hiatus

I've come to a point where I need to take a little time to work some things out on my own. I've been on a steady decline over the past month, and I need to refocus my energy on the business at hand: getting a life. I've spent too long being bogged down in my present circumstances (and I've spent too much time writing about them). Somewhere along the line a big chunk of my former identity got swallowed up by this pathetic new identity with its myopic self-pitying worldview. I think this blog has been a little too effective in encouraging those unhealthy attitudes. So it's time for a break.

(In case you were wondering, I won't be taking the dental magazine job because I didn't get it--which I think is a good thing.)

So I'll be going now. I'll be back when I've reclaimed a little dignity. Promise.

Until then, if you want to know what I'm up to, send me an email or give me a call.

I leave you (for now) with a few appropriate stanzas from my old pal Elizabeth Bishop:

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster;
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.