It is early morning—

I can’t seem to find it in me to write anything long enough, or full enough, in order to encapsulate what have perhaps been the best few months I’ve had in such a long time. I have an incredible job. And there are things around me that have watered down a little to a point of some sheer contentment. Not to mention how helplessly giddy I get at the thought of someone so perfectly unattainable that, well, it’s still perfect. I think some people call that a happy crush though, obviously, it’s not just that. When I graduated from university in the early part of this year, I’d finally confirmed for myself that, with hindsight, those five years were some of the worst of my life. I didn’t like who I was when I was attending, and I felt like so many things were taken away from me, and I have no shame in thinking about that part of my life like that. Those were hard times. I suppose the short answer is, I never would have anticipated how happy I’d be after that—how happy I am. Or how much this job means to me, in almost every way. To illustrate: Yesterday, I conducted ten hour-long interviews and, at the end of the day, I was still happy. “You look tired happy,” as my mother observed. If that’s not saying anything.


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