This is true. Most of it has been protected. Here’s a catchup: the store where I have worked for a decade and a half has closed, and I am unemployed.
At first, I was very sad about it, and then I was sort of frantic — feeling at all times as though I had just had 12 cups of coffee. It seemed to me that while it was very unlikely that anyone who would be interviewing me for a job would happen by here and recognize me, it might be best not to make my more unbalanced-sounding posts public.
This occurred to me largely because I, when I applied for work with Client #2, went casually around the internet and read his best friend’s blog and his parents’ political views. He, being a practitioner of The Dark Art himself, might do the same as he considered hiring me, and could easily connect me with this blog.
I am all over the internet, actually. It’s a good thing that my life is an open book. Or at least the part of it that has taken place since the internet began.
So I have applied for about ten jobs so far, all but one of which involve lengthy hiring committee processes. I applied for one which might not be a lengthy hiring process, though it also won’t pay a living wage.
Those two things are connected.
I have also picked up some freelance work doing what I have been doing for the past year. I would most like to continue doing this — writing, research, and plying The Dark Art.
However, I am taking the weekend off. The Resume Wizard told me that I should expect to be out of work for about one month for every $10,000 p.a. I intended to earn. I hope she is wrong. But if she is right, I can’t just suspend life for that length of time. So I did the grocery shopping yesterday and finished planting the garden, met with The Chemist to get some more of the choir room’s music into the database, cleaned house, and spent the evening lolling about reading The Island of the Sequined Love Nun and knitting.
I told my son, as I put away proper groceries for the first time in a couple of weeks, that I was getting out of crisis mode.
He looked up, interested. “Are we out of crisis mode?”
“Well,” I had to admit, “maybe not. But I am going to get out of crisis mode anyway.”
I’m offering you pictures of my irises, which have finally bloomed, with a background of the sad skeletons of my roses, which are infested with caterpillars.
We turned the tomato cages over, since Dweezy tells me that we have always had them upside down. They look funny to me, but I bet he’s right.
And here are the sleeves of Erin. I am beginning to hear that phrase as part of a song. With pipes, you know, and a penny whistle and a tenor with a nice thick brogue.
Actually, this is Alice Starmore’s cardigan “Erin” from The Celtic Collection, except that I completely changed the sleeves. It’s a long story.
Today is church, and business, and more housework, but also I hope more lolling and more playing about in the garden. Maybe a hike. It is beautiful here,