Veering in a new direction

Following yet another rejection from a prospective employer, and again on the grounds that I am "too big a personality to work in literary representation", I've decided to take a new approach to the beast that is my occupational future.

I'm tired of questing for something mysterious and foreign. I've begun to realize that perhaps this whole notion of orbiting aimlessly around the idea of writing is the one thing holding me back from diving into something at which I could really excel; that could invigorate and thrill me in a more immediate way; that could permit me access to the glamour and excitement I've always been too ashamed to own outright.

It's not to say that I don't want to write. Clearly I do. It's just that the notion of writing being this sort of work-in-progress device for flying is beginning to feel slightly unrealistic. I'd rather climb onto a plane and have someone teach me the controls while I craft my own original form of flight on the side, a sort of hobby to fill up the lazy evenings and weekends.

And this is my plan.
I'm in the midst of a period of assessment, a moratorium of pursuits and aspirations. All I want to do is to be successful, bombastic, glitzy, and still taken seriously by those who really know me.

In the timeless words of somebody I don't remember, "fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."