Sentimental Sunday

I like the idea of a consolidated newsroom about as much as I like a cock in the ass, which is very little. It seems like a temporary answer to a situation from which the true downfall is far from conclusive. Nevertheless, individuals like me will always be wound up in the process, like flotsam and jetsam tossed around in the breakers still pretending to be a whole sailboat about to dock.

As will always occur, it seems, a decision between what I truly desire to do and what is the safer bet presents itself. Before, I've chosen a journalism education over a tumultuous life on a golf course's maintenance staff; I've chosen a solid job across the country over a rocky start-up in a coffee shop venture. Now the choice is between these two: moving to a town I'll hate to work for a man I don't respect or trust to do a job that steadily gets more nonessential daily; or trying to make it as a freelance designer, using a platform of temporary jobs to support this venture.
Ms. Starchild, Mr. Dawson and Mr. and Mrs. Ameling support the latter, yet I don't feel strong enough to follow through.

Yes, after all my talk of following my heart's desire, my surrender comes from externals, from an uber-realistic outlook that creeps from around all my wanderlust tendencies. I cannot divorce the two, and my realism cannot allow me to be cast on the rocks of freedom with the possibility of my greatest fear: starvation.

It's not all gloom and doom though. A local band gave me the opportunity to design its CD artwork. A local coffee shop offered to let me design its menu. I'll be getting paid more to move. So really, this whole post just means one thing: I just really like to whine on and on about nothing. But hey! that's what the whole blogosphere is for. Right!

Do you like whining? Let me know!