Quaking

I've just done something. I'm hoping it was the right thing, but somehow doubting that anything will come of it.

For all my bitching and moaning a couple of months back, I have not left my job. I'm still there and I'm still miserable, most of the time. But tonight, in spite of the fact that I only got home at about 10, I have taken a step in what I hope is the direction of the door. I've actually gotten around to listing some vintage-related things for sale. And oh, god, I hope they sell. Because not only do I need the money, I need the out.

I've been clinging to a version of this particular dream for a little while now, and have taken a few steps along the path to realising it, without getting too bored. That's unusual for me, I have to be honest. For all the dreams I've had along the way, I've never really wanted to see any of them through. Not properly. It might be that my sister-in-law-of-sorts is also treading down a similar path with me this time that is driving it. Or maybe it's just that I'm finally finding something that I feel passionate enough about. Who can tell? And who on earth would have thought that it would have anything to do with clothing, if it is? That the sartorial failure would want to build a career around this?

But there again, it's not fashions for the now - it's fashion for way back then. So I guess it works for me, given that I'm something of a history nerd.

So here's crossing fingers, toes, eyes, ankles, knees, anything else I can manage to get across something else, that there are people out there who are interested in what I'm selling, and that they actually buy it. Because I want out.