For the last month or so, I haven't really talked about the hole but today, well, no matter how you look at it, it's a horrendous disaster. I've been kicked so far down the hole I'm in limbo, at the outskirts of hell. So yeah, I'm in deep shit.
I talked to my father for a while--mostly I was glad he didn't have a heart attack or start yelling at me. But then I'm not really sure how he feels about this whole situation. Two thousand miles and a disembodied voice at one's ear is a poor way to convey any expression.
I asked him what the point was of doing something and then ending up at a job that would make me extremely unhappy. He said he didn't know--but that I should really take some time and think about what I want to do. Maybe he's right. I haven't been thinking too clearly lately.
For a person who has always known where to go, this sort of uncertainty is frightening. I have absolutely no idea where I will be six months from now, but there's a ninety percent chance I won't be New Hampshire anymore.
