I'm running down a dark street. My breath is ragged from running so hard and fast. The only sound breaking the silence of the still summer night is my feet pounding the pavement. And paper. It's all around me, swirling and flying and falling, as if propelled by a miniature tornado, and I'm trying to grasp the edges of them and stuff them into my already full hands, but I can't keep up! The papers keep piling up and flying around and I can't run fast enough.
At least this is the nightmare I'm sure to have very soon.
I've received two emails this week alone prompting me to begin the chase, to keep moving, to get it done. I will be receiving two emails a week for the next 14 weeks, pushing me on to the next step.
It doesn't matter that:
- I'm about to be in- between jobs in less than a week
- that I have a mountain paperwork to fill out in order to begin a new job in three weeks
- that I need to figure out if the other job I have still wants me and how often I can work.
- that my sheets are in the washer and it's 11:30 p.m. and I have to be at work at 8
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