Never satisfied, never bold in Everyday life

Anyone who read my previous diary will realize I'm almost never satisfied. I'm anxious. I'm jumpy. I like to move around a lot.

I move from job to job. My last place of employ, I worked there 3.5 years. Before that, the longest I'd held a job was 11 months. I've been at my current stop for a year and a half, but even now I'm starting to get restless.

There were meetings in the office a few days back about the future of the place. There is talk of moving folks around, which to me is always a bad sign. In my field, that's akin to reshuffling chairs on the Titanic deck. You start talking about changes like that, and then they get a lot more involved, a lot more desperate... soon people lose their jobs. Welcome to the life of a journalist.

Am I even in the correct portion of my field? Every time I toy with the idea of moving toward more of a writing-based job again, I just think of my previous failures -- a lot of them, at least I feel they were a lot -- as a reporter. A source once said I didn't have "fire in the belly"; that didn't sting as much as my editor's agreeing with him, and throwing me under the bus, did. Then there are times where I find myself at an assignment and just realize, "I don't want to do this." Of course, I also don't want to be chained to a desk for eight or 10 hours a night.

I'm paralyzed by fear and afraid to do anything. And I'm not getting younger. So for now I just keep cashing the checks, hoping things work out for me in 20 years. Not a great plan, but it's gotten me this far, right?

P.S. I could probably use a good editor, too, on my posts here. Very rambly.