I don’t give a crap anymore. I’ll find the right one, I’m confident. It’ll just take time.
You know how in action movies, when Mr. Fighty Hero Guns Yeah must break into some computer’s mainframe (what does that even mean) and the music is all thumpy, and the camera’s zoomed in on his eyes that are glowing with reflected monitor light, and one solitary trickle of sweat is snaking its way down his temple, and he gets to the point where one press of a button will change everything, and then –
— click —
— he presses it —
— everything’s quiet for a second –
— and then some building blows up?
Well, imagine all of that, only instead of Mr. Fighty Hero Guns Yeah, it’s me, and instead of hacking into the mainframe, it’s querying my dream agent.
That is exactly how I felt two hours ago, albeit with less sweat and a less heart-pounding soundtrack.
Immediately after hitting that Send button came…
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