Yesterday I dusted off my résumé.

I know, I know, it goes against every single precept that I have been preaching to myself for the past seven years – or longer – but it’s for a position that I just can’t ignore. At least, that’s my story, and so far, I’m sticking to it.

It’s actually a management position, overseeing and directing an existing operation while developing, funding and implementing additional technology to complement the existing. I’ve done this before, so it’s not new to me by any stretch of the imagination; however, I’ve not done it on such a small scale as will be required. It should be interesting, to say the least.

Consequently, my operational background and experience shoehorn me into the somewhat enviable position of being capable of competing for the job – which, per se, isn’t really a job to me. It sounds as though it might be “fun” – which is how I characterize every job I’ve ever had.

For the most part, I have tended to look at employment this way: If I can’t wait to get to work in the morning, and, subsequently, can’t wait to lock the door and go home in the evening, then what’s the point of being there? And, in fact, that’s the reasoning behind why I abandoned my last period of well-financed career employment seven years ago.

I’m not counting chickens, though. I’ve been a vagabond for so long now that my work-related experience seems to me to be only a figment of an overactive imagination. Has it really been seven years since I was last gainfully employed in the profession that I chose as a teenager? It seems to me to be only a heartbeat. That seven year layoff may end up costing me, but then, that’s all right too.

If I’m fortunate, I’ll still get a bike ride to a job interview that’s over a hundred miles away, plus expenses.

There’s nothing wrong with that.