I told the ponies to deliver my last letter to you, but also to write it before delivering, and damn ponies. Complaints about lacking opposable thumbs and a grasp of the English language. Whatever. Unfortunately this post has to be brief because somehow, randomly and suddenly I have a substitute teaching assistant thing this morning? at the preschool at our church, to which I had expressed interest in applying to for the fall. And despite the scheduling complications with N.Lo pickup and the last-minuteness and a case of the nerves, I'm going for it because it could be a good foot in the door? Or a warning to slam it closed and run. I should at least find out either way, right? It will give me something to recap later today. And then I should probably talk some more about my birthday (notes to self) and ProRun designer travesties and whatever else -
Oh! My main reason for sad bloglack this past week or so (although I've loved hearing all your adventures as you countdown to Home) is that most of my energy is spent mind-spiraling and chewing my nails over Jobs and Life and my apparent failure at both. Never do I feel like a bigger loser when it comes to employ, whether it by my $2/hr attempts at freelancing (because that's what it works out to, always) or my weak resume or lack of wise ambition in my 20s to do something that actually amounts to anything. And now it's too late? Or is it. (I need to read Julia Child's bio - another note to self. since she started her journey to awesomeness in her 30s.) And then add to that jumping back into the world of gainful employment after a 7-year absence and it all just seems futile and completely lacking in luster or hope. Particularly when I'm not asking for much. I'm applying, for instance, to be a SpEd TA - a temporary, they emphasize, minimum wage position (but it's at K's school, so schedule would be perfect?) and I need somehow to get a college transcript. And 3 people to fill out reference forms, even though - seriously? - this is all even before an interview. Icing on the cake was emailing undergrad and being informed - you graduated so long ago that you're unable to just print it out online. Like my fucking degree exists in some dusty cave of an archive or something, and only Argus Filch has the key. And we all know how temperamental Argus Filch can be.
Anyway - I gotta go for now. Love! You! enjoy your day or your night and remember to hold out for a cuter accent and less insobriety.
P.S. HD does NOT give employee discounts. We're already off to a bad start.