Bad juju

I've been witholding information. From all of you. I know, it's shameful. But I had good reason. You see *sigh*, I have a problem with my juju.

Juju is what I refer to as luck. Traditionally it means magic, but I use it to mean luck. Neither actually exist, so there's really no difference.

I've been having a pretty long run where my juju has been out of whack. Or is whack. Has been whacked. There is definitely some form of whack going on. My own personal road to success/happiness/fulfillment has resembled the Dan Ryan reconstruction project in Chicago. Potholes are everywhere, I couldn't get off where I wanted to, and in order to make any kind of forward progress I had to take the long detour route down Ashland. It seemed everytime I was finally moving, BAM, I'd slam into one of those flashing divider things. At this point I'm a little scared of my own juju, and I don't like to anger it because it is clearly out of my control. I find nothing fuels my juju's anger like being prematurely excited about something good on the horizon.

So what I am about to share with you I do so with trepidation: I had a job interview last Wednesday for a great job. THE job. The best job I could possibly ask for at my level. It went so well. Even my hair looked good. They loved me. I met with the president of the company, and he loved me. I got a call today asking me to come back to meet with one more guy on Friday. Basically, they like me a ton, and just want to run me past one last dood. It's not a sure thing until I have an offer, but this is really good news, and I wanted to share. But I'm not going to share more details than that. I may be asserting a little independence from my juju here, but there's no reason to reach out and slap it right in the face.

So I ask my juju to cool out, stop being so angry, and not get in the way this time. Good juju, good. Nobody wants to be bad.