There they were waiting ever so patiently after my short Thanksgiving break. 211 pieces of communication. 211 different pages of electronic text. 211 ways of telling me I'm someone else's bitch. 211 reasons for me to shut the computer off and call it a day.

The latter unfortunately is not a choice for me. Nor is it really a choice for many when they enter the real world. It's funny how things change. It's more amusing how time will pass and the world seems very much it was the last time you looked around. It is now December and the weather is cold and skies are filled with gray. Very much the weather that welcomed my arrival to Detroit. There are differences between the two. The one in which I live now has more hills. I've also been at this job longer while in Detroit I arrived as a rookie with no dirt under my nails. Still the climate alone is not the only similarity. While I lived in a house of five in Detroit, I felt alone. Much like I do now. The background noise of roommates was comforting much like the way I sit at this cafe every weekend just to hear the noisy chatter of family and friends conversing.

Restlessness has again started to settle in. This time though a result of scanning classifieds will not occur. This restlessness maybe caused because I understand my job and what is expected of me. Every week I seek something new. While usually a bit more is added to my plate each time, its not fulfilling in the least bit. Maybe it’s because I know this isn't long term for me. Maybe it’s something in my genes that continually pushes me to strive for something better. Something more meaningful. The puzzle as ever it close it looks to be completed is missing a piece. I am willing to give it my all. I am willing to make the sacrifices. I am confident in myself and my abilities. Still the puzzle with the borders (always the easiest place to start) is in place there is a piece in the middle missing. Even I don't know what this piece is supposed to look like. I am still searching in the box, my life for it.

I'm 24, which is young by any means, yet I feel time is outrunning me. I want to be on the fast track. Be a mover or a shaker. Not both or then I'd look like I'm having a seizure. While I want to do these things, I come home from work later than I care for and more tired than awake. My weekends don't consist of me reading through books or picking up the latest marketing periodical. They consist of TV, surfing the web, and all the chores I didn't get done in the daily grind that begins Monday followed by 4 other similar days. I can talk the talk, but it looks like there's more walking needed on my behalf.