Winter Solstice Eve

Dear FutureMe, Do you remember today? Have you forgotten yourself already? You were miserable at your job -- your editor snapped at you and you still haven't had a chance to write a decent sentence since November -- yet you decided to turn down another job offer. It was the tedium that persuaded you. No need to trade one tedium for another. Once you made the decision, there was that sinking feeling again. Trapped. Stuck in that office, staring out the window at busy-looking people disappearing into the bowels of Big Government, while you're suffocating inside with your wilting potted plants and stacks of papers and dreams of great prose. Hot steamy dragonwell tea is the highlight of the day lately. Things will get better, won't they? Haven't heard back from that other job -- the real one, with the kindly editor -- which means you weren't right for that one, either. Trapped here instead. The house-painter boss complimented you on not offending an important source today. But what about the quality of my writing? He was more worried about diplomacy. Your editor didn't say anything. He never does. He just sneers. Maybe what I'm most afraid of is true: My enthusiasm far outstrips my talent. I hate people like that. They break my heart, and I pity them, and I don't ever want to be one of them. So have I become that? Have I given up? Please say no. Please be remembering this and wondering how I could have doubted that things would work out in the end, somehow. Please be happy right now. R.