Oh, how this job calls to me.
While I spend timer-clocked hours digging away in the boring-but-lucrative technology salt mines, my soul craves the crazy adventure that would undoubtedly pay just enough to scrape by. And despite the endless forms of communication that now exists, I still miss the small town community newspaper, the last bastion of Old Journalism.
I've got a feeling that I'll likely end up at the same place I began, and that'd be just fine.
While I spend timer-clocked hours digging away in the boring-but-lucrative technology salt mines, my soul craves the crazy adventure that would undoubtedly pay just enough to scrape by. And despite the endless forms of communication that now exists, I still miss the small town community newspaper, the last bastion of Old Journalism.
I've got a feeling that I'll likely end up at the same place I began, and that'd be just fine.
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