A fomer colleague for whom I sometimes do the odd writing job or two got in touch with me earlier this week and wanted to talk about two things. One was a short-term writing project: the usual "do this for the client and make them happy" deal. The other one was something we'd been planning for nearly a decade: our own original production. Everything - characters, scenarios, the whole world, for the love of everything sacred! - of our own creation.
It was a timely invitation. Of late, I've been falling ill quite frequently. The time of my daily commute has been lengthened by two full hours by the ongoing construction of the Skyway. Even if I wanted to come to work on time, the traffic would really get in the way. I'm tired out more by the commute than by the work which, alas, is getting to be more than a little hair-raising because of certain things - and people! - that are getting a tad too ornery for comfort. I've been trying to keep my health by fortifying myself with vitamins and vitamin drinks (like the one above) and my sanity by reading the Bible, graphic novels (that's Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis under the bottle), and writing.
As I was telling Ate Lara when we met up earlier, I am beginning to wonder if my current circumstances are still worth it.
So many things are changing. People are moving out and starting fresh elsewhere. The old guard is thinking of retirement while the young usurper and his cohorts are beginning to impose their skewed wills upon a hapless populace. My skills are changing along with my interests, but my most basic ones - writing, thinking, creating - are being sharpened yet again.
For what reason, I have no idea. At least, not just yet.
Wherever it is I'm supposed to go, however, I leave it all up to the Man Upstairs, to the Lord Almighty. And so, to quote Psalm 18:36:
You broaden the path beneath me, so that my ankles do not turn.
Make the way safe for me, my Heavenly Father, and in your wisdom lead me to where I truly belong.
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