Revision

I’ve been living away from home ( — or the place I’ll probably always call home) for more than 10 years now. Sometimes I still get so homesick I feel like I am going to cry my eyes out. For as much as my adopted hometown has to offer, Texas, and more specifically, Houston, has the things I prize above else: my friends and family.

Now that I have Annabelle, I am even more desperate to get home. This past year has showed me that, in the grand scheme of things, work doesn’t matter. It’s just a means to an end. All the toil and trouble we put into it — for what? We’re just cogs in a massive machine. The only thing that really matters are the people who love us. Who make us feel like ourselves. Who remind us that we’re special. Who help us see what life is about.

I wasted nearly seven years worrying about the very real problems of other people. Death, destruction, horrendous acts… The news never stops and the news is rarely good. I say wasted and that sounds much more harsh than I mean it. I got a great deal from my years with [place of business]. I am so thankful I had the chance to work with these incredible, smart, talented people. I miss them terribly. But, in the end, it was just a job. A job. On my deathbed, I seriously doubt I will wish I’d spent more time at work. Will I wish I’d written just one more perfect headline (if there is such a thing)? Will I wish I’d been called in at 4 a.m. or that I’d gotten to work just one more overnight shift? Doubt it.

*sigh*

I am tired. I miss home. Just ignore all of the above…