I bought myself one of my favourite type of books the other day - a thersaurus, something I call "A Writer's Best Friend." There are 8 entries under the word "stress", with "pressure" being the one most suited to my current uneasiness.
I've been lax on the posting due to the following reason that my schedule has been fuller than full of late.
The main thing being my final application to Lonely Planet - yes for reasons still a mystery to me, they liked my initial application and now have me doing a final project, that is a sample chapter, before i get the LP go ahead to ramble on about Osaka. So naturally I'm rambling on about Osaka in this sample, more to the point, Minami, and have spent the last couple of weeks wining and dining....myself...., partaking in new and osbcure local activities and doing an obscene amount of shopping, all in the name of research. That's my excuse for the shopping anyway.
I still have my interview to write for Ko Kimura too, which will hopefully get itself written from all the information I have on him strewn all over the house - here's hoping the humidity and upcoming full moon will cause the words to all melt together into some intelligble question format that I can use over our dinner in 2 weeks.
So I'm feeling a foreign kind of pressing at the moment. The moment has come in my life I never thought would happen, the fact that I actually have a chance at my dream, my ultimate, my numero uno, my ichiban job. If I could count the number of times I have told people "I would love to write for Lonely Planet" I'd be a very rich girl living it up on some tropical island somewhere.
MY DREAM JOB PEOPLE!! I'm so thrilled I can't put it into words, I'm smiling so much my jaws are aching (or that could be all the oolong tea I have been consuming, jury's out on that one). I don't want to do anything to jeopardise this opportunity or anything that could leave me doubting I have put in less than 1000% on this. If I don't get the job, which there is every chance, then I don't wanna be thinking I contributed to that by not leaving every stone unturned. That would kill me. I want to know I have given them the best of me, and that there was simply someone else with a style better suited to their needs when it came down to it.
So this on top of the question of "Where do I go from here?" is compounding the sleepless nights and agitated state of affairs right now. Have I peaked too early - can I only go down from here? Will this be it? How do I go and get another writing gig now? Do I have what it takes? What if this, like the way I view so many other things in my life, be just a one-off with me failing to follow it through properly therefore hindering any chance of a future in writing?
Oh God - the torture. The self-inflicted pain! I couldn't have put it better myself - Thanks Oxford.