Yesterday, I enclosed myself in my home. I drew the blinds, I turned the air down to a cool 73 and I filled a glass of water and set in by my side. Then I powered up my computer, said a prayer and started my three hour one hundred questions broker course.
The course I've been studying for since December. The course I've hated for three plus months but knew I had only a limited time to take it. The course my husband thought was a brainy idea to do since time was running out on my eligibility to take it. He was right, or course. We needed to keep our options open.
At question number 97, I clicked to read a printout on Adobe. When I returned to the test portion, I found it had locked me out. They warn you if you exit, you can't finish. I hadn't pressed Exit. I threw my pen down in shock and screamed a few comments then finally called my husband. "Call the company," he repeated three times into the phone.
Mark, the tech guy, and I knew each other well. I'd already called twice in the past two days. He repeated a simple order whereby I found my lost screen and finished my test.
I passed. But instead of intense joy--it means my ordeal moves to the state level of testing.
What does all this have to do with writing? A lot. It reminds me how my brain works. Words, not numbers and math and finance information, and investment stuff run through my brain. I don't think God wired me to be a broker kind of person but for now it's part of my life.
I'm rewarding myself today with some much needed time to write. Sometimes we have to do the hard stuff we hate, but thankfully when we get to do what we love, it makes the darker days much more sunny.