Some good writing went down to night. The consumation of the conversation and a subsequent email exchange with Security regarding imagination.

In other news, a pretty galvanizing (I'm over-using that word lately) insight from therapy tonight. During the past umpteen years I've been in therapy, dissatisfaction with whatever my job is or has been was always an on-going theme. I always have held out hope that one of these days, I'd figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up. Tonight, I said something along the lines of, "What's going on outside of work has always been more important to me than what's happening at work." Then it struck me: there is no 'perfect job' out there for me. I will never be satisfied with my work. I'm basically a lazy person: I would much rather not work at all. Therefore, trying to find a job that's somehow satisfying and fulfilling is a fools game. Rather, find a job that is sufficiently remunerative (or downscale my expenses accordingly) and one that takes up as little of my time as possible, and I'll be happy.

I think of my friend Paul, who left behind what I imagine was a six-figure job as Director of Administration in the General Counsel's office of Ernst & Young to move to San Francisco and take a job working in a doctor's office. Essentially, his duties there were to answer the phone and make appointments. That's all. Everything else he turfed. When five o'clock rolled around, Paul was already headed out the door. This gave Paul lots of time to see theater, see friends, enjoy San Francisco, and fuck. Last time I talked to Paul, he was the textbook illustration of happiness.

I'll get there.