The End of the Beginning or the Beginning of the End

I would like to write about how there was a fire on the 405 freeway that prevented me from getting to work in a timely manner, or how my boots gave me horrible blisters today, or how Henry is doing or how much I love Paula Deen. I have a lot I want to write about. In fact, I have 16 drafts of posts that I haven’t gotten you yet. But I can’t write any of it, not right now anyway, because not only am I dead tired from eight hours of work, tomorrow morning, I am going to take a test that’s slightly more hellish than the SAT. The test that might or might not determine the direction of my life for the next couple of years, the test I am dreading, the test that I believe has absolutely no measure on my abilities as a writer or journalist whatsoever. Yes, I will be taking that test, that three letter word of a test, tomorrow for four hours. I’d like to be writing, but instead, I am stressing. I have silently told myself that this is just the test of the test. In other words, this is me getting my feet wet. This is not do or die. This is do, and if you fail, do again. Don’t stress. Stay calm. You will live. I hope.

If I survive, you’ll hear from me soon.