First, for the people who don't know what "balls to the wall" means: calm down, I am as anatomically equipped to use that phrase as I would be to preside over Divine Service, I ASSURE YOU. That's not to say the guys who came up with "balls to the wall" don't delight in the words' ambiguity -- I think it's a safe bet they do. Those guys are fighter pilots, for whom maximum acceleration is reached by pushing the throttle (that thing that looks like a handle with a ball on it) as far forward as it will go (i.e., to the wall). Okay?
Second: I'm tentatively committed to a house-sitting gig in Durham, North Carolina, for a Divinity School prof who just moved to Atlanta but still hasn't sold his place next to the Duke campus. No rent, in exchange for keeping up the place while buyers continue to check in. And no, I don't know how these things keep finding me. Oh, but I only get this house if a certain professor joining the Duke faculty and moving to Durham from the Chicago area this summer doesn't decide to buy it.
Third: I got a preliminary call from Holden. That's really all I can say right now. Into the woods? Maybe...
Fourth: two women walked into the Green Iguana last night, landed at one of my tables, and we talked about this, that, and the other thing, and before they left, one handed me a phone number and a web address and the offer of an obscene amount of money to stay in Florida for one more year and work for her. Obscene, like, I would be able to pay for Duke.
Ugh. Divinity School. Holden Village. New job. Every one of them a stellar option. But right now, they all think I'm coming their way in a month's time. So there's a lot on my mind all of a sudden. Making calls like these is just a part of growing up, I guess. I told somebody recently that I refuse to grow up into a person I don't want to be. I think I'm going to pretend I meant that.
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