On a whim, I decided to look at all 10 sets of entries from November.
Well, it really wasn’t a whim. I looked in the mirror at work today. I mean really looked. I’m still pretty sexy and so many of my scars from my fall in 2009 are getting to the point where they aren’t particularly prominent.
But there are so many grey hairs in my beard; so many lines under my eyes; so few hairs just north of my forehead as compared to nine years ago. Or five. Hell, two years ago.
A lot has happened in these nine years and some big changes h5ave happened in the past two. I have been thinking a lot in the past couple weeks. I think, in the course of things, I did get burned out. There’s nothing else I’d rather do, but it didn’t feel the same.
Until this week.
When a major news story erupted on my day off, Renée could tell something was bothering me. Yes, yes there was: I spent the entire day trying to keep myself occupied because MAJOR NEWS WAS HAPPENING AND HERE I AM HAVING MY REGULARLY SCHEDULED DAY OFF LIKE A FRIGGING CHUMP.
It made me think of how Hopewell’s first homicide of the year was a large contributor to me capping off my first vacation in more about two years with a straight drive from Baton Rouge.
I’m still a little off my game, in my opinion. But that all-consuming desire to be in the newsroom was indescribable. It was just a great thing of which to at least feel a shadow.
And looking at Novembers past have shown me that despite everything that happened, I’m here, sitting on a couch with she who shall be my wife in seven months.
We’re moving up, and this isn’t me lumping in you the reader for one.
I’m getting there, for lack of a better phrase.
And, despite the grey hairs, lackof hairs or baggy eyes, give me a blazer and some nice slacks and you’ll get a sexy man. A sexy newspaperman.