Shhhhhhh!

I know, I know -- as of late, I've been vewy, vewy quiet.

It's with good reason. I've been hard at work...at getting off the freakin' island. Having a glimpse outside the Cave kind of lit a fire under me.

I think I might be on to a lead. But, of course, I don't want to jinx it.

It'd be in DC, it'd start February-ish, and I could tell you what it involves, but...mm, no, actually, I can't. Same mother ship. Very different portfolio. Who knows? It may suit me.

On the plus side, I'd get out of Mumbai. And, then, too, on the plus side, I'd get out of Mumbai.

On the negative side, it'd be career death: if I abandon a full-blown hardship job that's a grade above my personal rank for a cushy Washington one that's at-grade, the promotion panel is going to look at my file and decide I really can't hack it.

But you know what? I really can't hack it.

Did I mention that the job would get me out of Mumbai?

Then, too, I'm a bit scared I wouldn't be able to handle this job, either. Not that DC is that bad. But the job itself would require me to become a subject expert in something that, frankly, I'm not all that interested in. (It'd be a great job for K.) But does it beat sitting through two-hour meetings on who's gonna hook up the overhead projector, and being tasked with setting up schedules for overblown "experts" from fourth-rate schools who wake me up at 3 AM to ask what they should do about their headaches? Yeah, probably. Does it beat being in Mumbai?

Definitely.

So. I have my boss' approval. I have her boss' approval. I'm involved in an intimate and coquettish tango with my prospective new boss, in which I indicate that I know I don't have the job and they indicate that they really can't offer me the job just at this moment, nope, not until I'm unattached, and we continue to shower compliments on each other. Soon, I suppose, it'll be time for the "DO YOU LIKE ME? YES NO" note. In the meantime, I'm getting advice that'd make Yossarian blanch. Apparently, my previous attempts to leave are now being held against me, because the only way I can leave is if I demonstrate that I really don't want to leave, but something external is making me do so. Such as a disease. I've been told to make one up.

K and I puzzled over this.

"Maybe you should say you want a baby and you need fertility help?" he suggested.

"There's great IVF clinics in Mumbai," I pointed out. "Not only won't they let us leave, we'll end up with a toddler."

There are, of course, actual medical issues in play -- I mean, I could just go back on the original thyroid dose, and they'll probably insist that I leave. But, other than sharing this info with the entire world on the internet, I feel strangely defiant about talking about it.

Stay tuned.