You'd think

You'd think all this job drama would translate to blog fodder.

Of course it hasn't.

There are talkers. There are doers. And there are thinkers.

I am a thinker/doer when it comes to processing Major Life Events.

So I cut the grass this weekend. Avoided social situations. Helped Jim trim trees out front. Hauled brush to the ginormous burn pile out back. Read a lot. And figured out a much easier way to clean the filthy, dust-ridden cushions on the sun porch furniture.

I still don't know exactly what to make of this situation, but goddamn, the house looks GREAT.
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Also: Had my first interview on Friday.

"Way to go, Hedy! An interview! Wow, that's GREAT!"

Okay, shaddap.

When I finally find a job working for people who actually appreciate what I do and are willing to pay for it, then we can all do the happy dance.

For now there will be no dancing, happy or otherwise.

Mostly because of the blisters. Angry, quarter-sized blisters. One on each foot. You would think it's stigmata if you didn't know me as Hedy, faithless heathen.

The interview went well. They always do.

But I nearly crippled myself walking from Union Station to the Chicago Board of Trade building in exceptionally cute new "I'm jobless" shoes.

Worse, I had to jettison the new shoes and buy newer new shoes to make the hike back to the train.

So, for those of you keeping track:

Jobs: 0
Interviews: 1
New shoes: 2

Now get back to work. I'm going to take a nap.
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I am listening to: Gromit breathing
I am reading: Harry Potter 6
And I am: Quiet