The stress is coming in pretty good, now. After some fine tuning, and a bit of a slow start, things seem to be running pretty smoothly, jacking my shoulders up a few quarters of an inch, tightening my intestines into ever-decreasing spirals, and kicking the insomnia back into high gear. It’s that decision time of year, and I now have four offers that all both excel and disappoint for a number of reasons. Unfortunately, it’s not easy enough to just go for the money. There are many a slip twixt a cup and a lip.

Ironically, I have been lamenting all the things I wanted to do, places I wanted to go, people I wanted to see during this “break” I’ve been on for too long to comfortably admit. The things is, which I realize as I write this, is that all of those things took something I had an ever-dwindling supply of: money. It’s a Catch-22.

I’m having the shoulda-woulda-couldas when there’s no point in exploring them. Should I have gone to Canada after all? Should I have gotten a job at The Gap while I was still looking? Should I have tried harder to learn and do more on my hiatus? Could I have been better, smarter, faster, cooler than I was? And on and on and on.

Most importantly, though… most importantly… is one other burning question:

Where do I sign?

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