Yesterday was my husband’s last day at work. Unfortunately, I thought it was today, and had agreed to go out with a couple of friends.It was unfortunate in the sense that I would have stayed home with him had I realized, but fortunate in the sense that I enjoyed it.

We dined on lemonade and a selection of appetizers at a chain restaurant and then went to see “The Music Man.” It was fun to watch. Live performances may not be as perfect as movies and recordings, but there is an undeniable freshness and fun to them. We also had good conversations and saw other friends and generally had a pleasant evening.

On the way back to town, the ladies regaled me with the legal problems I might be facing regarding my stepfather’s erratic behavior, and this morning the social worker from the elder care center called to share her concerns as well. I called my stepfather and he told me he was going into hospice. I feel as though someone who needed hospice would be less of a wild card, but I don’t know much about these things.

Then I had lunch with a local near-competitor, a man whose work I have always heard very highly praised. He wants to work with us, and I am looking forward to the opportunity. Lunch was nice, we had interesting conversations, and I think it might represent exciting possibilities.

Then I went with my husband to the unemployment office, where we spent a couple of hours filling things out and waiting. The unemployment counselor had a cubicle lavishly decorated in hot pink and zebra print, with many feather boa and fairy wing touches. It was quite cheery. He has a severance package and opportunities for training and generally is in a much better position than I was back when I got laid off.

On the way home he told me that I wanted him to “work himself to death,” presumably because I had said what I thought were comforting things about how he would be able to find a new job.

I got back to work, of course, with frequent interruptions from my husband, but enjoyable work nonetheless.

And then the mail arrived with a returned money order, a reminder that I have to go deal with bank things and tax things and other horrible things tomorrow.

And now I am working late and ordering pizza.