On the first day of December this year, yours truly completes 365 days of working for this organisation. Don't mind admitting this is a milestone for us, since I lasted precisely a) Six months at Times Response, my first job and b) 10 months at Mid Day, my second job when I quit the very same month they were doling out increments.
Oh well. Instead of things getting tougher, they actually got softer when I quit Job 2 to take up Job 3. One common thread is that I quit both my earlier jobs without having the next job in place, so that should indicate I am a bit of a risk taker. A useful quality in a reporter.
Also, contrary to what my bosses or colleagues or anyone else might think, I actually like working. And I love researching, even if it takes me two days to figure out a story and even if it eventually comes out as a single-column-no-byline thingy. What I don't like is people around me being useless and ending up wasting my time because they can't be arsed to work.
And also contrary to those who think they know me, think, I am seriously not that bothered about not having found a house yet, after umpteen tries and disappointments. I do not panic. I do not tear my hair. I keep looking. Yes, but I do inwardly swear at the prick who has a house near the one I live in with my parents and who decided, belatedly, not to sell. I hope he fries in oil.
But this year, I have generally been quite chuffed about life. Life's been good, life's been very exciting and harrowing and on an upwards, then downward spiral, but it has never been boring. Work is good most of the times, so is the family, and certainly so is the hubby. In fact, this year flashed by so quickly and so pleasantly, I am almost led into a sense of complacency that prompts me to think, My life will always be great because I am a great person born in great circumstances.
And with that Shiv Khera attitude to life, I shall now begin work for the day.