My stem cell job. It is an embryonic job that can grow into anything. But I have been offered the job of office manager- not exactly the one I had hoped to be offered. It would be temporary . . . but then what?
I'm just not sure. I don't know what I want to do with my life just yet, really, but I'm reasonably sure I don't really want to be an office manager. I'm always erring on the side of safety, but I wonder what the consequences will be if I do that this time.
Won't someone PLEASE buy my car? I hate it and want it gone . . . it locked up on me yesterday and I'm nearing the point where I'll have to put another $40 worth of gas in it. I don't even care that much right now about what kind of car I get next time, I just want it to not have an addiction and not die on me in parking lots.
Feet: clean, reliable transportation.
And, I'm still thinking of Crete. Crete is close to Lebanon. And Israel. It would be a grand adventure, no doubt . . . but so many things would have to happen if I got this job. I'd have to get a visa, probably. I'd have to work out my living situation, move out of my apartment, etc . . . but first of all verify that this is a legitimate company in the first place. It's such an exciting notion, flying off to another country, but when one gets down to the nitty gritty details (like, where do I send my tax paperwork?) it seems like a big fat ordeal. Liz and I discussed how the Peace Corps is nice that way-it's all a packaged deal, so you don't have to think about silly little things.
But- here's the kicker- the job in Crete is secretarial. But I'd be on Crete.
Dilemma . . .