It’s been raining in Delaware for about three or four days. As such, this has been pretty much been a good parallel to what my operative life has been like lately. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing however, as it means that no one has tried to kill me lately.
The life of an operative isn’t as glamorous as Sean Connery led us to believe in James Bond. Rarely, unfortunately, do I spend my time walking the bikini clad boardwalks of Miami, as Michael does in Burn Notice. Down time, in my perspective, is a blessing. My line of work entails persevering through a series of calculated risks. The more down time you have, the fewer chances you take on rolling the dice. This means that I’m essentially procrastinating until it lands on black, when I’ve put my free breathing future on red.
Begrudgingly, I’ve been surviving the daily commute. The grind, as it is, seemingly just as much relates to the coffee dust that gets me through my day as it does to the worker bee lifestyle I’m currently entertaining. I biggest fear is that the lack of action will lull me into a state of complacency. This, of course, can have dire consequences. Coming in at a close second, though, is the apprehension surrounding the potential that I may grow accustomed to this molasses lifestyle and become hesitant to reengage when Mother’s call comes.
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