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Holy crap.
I may have just talked my way into another job. Completely unintentionally. Despite the fact that I'm starting to have to trot to keep up with the two I've already got. And it's something I'd likely really enjoy doing, even if the hours could be better. Pay would likely be pretty decent, too, and it's the sort of thing that could open up a lot of opportunities down the line. Like, a lot.
Sigh. I seem to remember, not too long ago, thinking something like 'hey, look - I can work part time and work on my writing and won't that be pleasant'. But I seem to have decided that the laid-back life isn't for me. Maybe I have some of my mother's overachieving genetics after all?
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