I’m not really sure what’s going on with my life, except for the fact that I went from having no job to having what feels like 3 in about 4.7 seconds.

There was no transition period.

And I’m pretty sure that everyone needs a transition period.

I’m assisting in a wedding photography shoot on Saturday.  I have no idea what I’m doing.  I feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up in my one freelance writing gig.  My dogs are vibrating balls of energy because I haven’t figured out how to fit walking them into our new schedule.  Dinners are becoming slightly more “convenient,” and the Chinese take-out place down the street might start recognizing us once again.

Also, things are hectic in the land of real estate assistantship.  Assistantry?  Asskickingshiptry?  Apparently I’m doing something right, because after exactly a week-and-a-half of part-timing it, they want me to help out full-time.  And I’m torn.  On the obvious hand, it would be great to have the extra money.  On the other hand, it will take away serious time from my writing pursuits, including my little land of Domestiphobia.  Which is obviously already suffering.

I think I will take it on for a little while, mainly to help the team out of the current bind that’s caused when a group already manages over 50 properties, then takes on 40 more it knows nothing about all at one time.

On the plus-side, I’m learning a lot about the land of juggling showings, repair companies, and the egos of finicky clients.  I’ve pulled my travel coffee cup from the back of the cupboard, dusted off the mothballs, and can once again enjoy the de-stressing qualities of an aromatic cup of Kona on a 30-minute morning commute.  I feel a little bit important and needed.  The world is getting interesting again, and that’s never a bad thing.

On the negative side, well.

Let’s not worry about that unless we come to it, shall we?