time. place.

A long time ago, a reader had given me some advice. In the middle of a loss of direction, a fog of frustration he said, "it's not you. It's the time and the place."

The time - kinda - and the place - sort of - have changed.

I no longer work at night, with truck drivers, until the birds come out to chirp incessantly in the morning with the sun. I'm a reporter. For a paper.

It's a small paper. And I haven't had to move anywhere. But I'm scared as hell. I'm scared that it was a bad decision - mostly because of the insanely scary pay cut. And the change. I'm scared my stories won't be liked or even accepted.

And I hate change. I hate new. I hate not knowing. More than that - I hate many changes at once. The change in job. Change in pay. Change in lifestyle. I'd be lying if I were to say it weren't too much for me. It kinda sorta is.

But it's a new time. A new place.