The Stars and the Cookie Jar

So, after the perfect weekend, I must settle down to business. It really was the perfect weekend, though. I've never been so consistently calm and relaxed and happy. And I didn't even have any of the fifteen-year-old ruby port. (I think I was lulled by the fumes.)

My job has become an absolute masterpiece of retaliatory scheduling, but whatever. I know I need a new one. Still waiting to hear back from The Government on three jobs I applied for last week, but the app pools only closed Friday and then it was A Holiday, so everything must needs grind to a shrieking halt until Tuesday.

And I'm typing away at an Actual Resume, biased to neither one skillset nor another, not squinched into the ooky Federal format which requires one to list the time you baby-sat for the neighbors across the street in 1995. I suspect this is taking me longer than fifteen minutes because I'm such a nitpicky editor when it's me.

Still to be done:

Call and schedule OMG every appointment ever with those purveyors of medical tomfoolery sponsored by my insurance company

Finish that writing project

Do wedding-planning-y things

Laundry, cat box, Bonus Kitty Surprise on the Rug


....Were it not raining, raining, raining in a very determined way, I'd go buy postage for our kallah surveys, which have to go out to the company who grades the pre-marital ScanTron tests.

I wish I was a morning person. I understand there's a portion of the day that happens before noon, but I don't want to hear about it. So, thank you, apartment maintenance people, for coming to fix our bathtub, but why did you have to come knocking at 8.45?

Suddenly 'We can't see you until 4:30PM Friday" has turned to "How's 2:30 on Thursday?"

Negligible, I'm sure, but for the fact that an extra day to recover from this will be nice. Also, by the time I'm done being procedure'd, darthrami will be able to come and collect me.

No solid food for four hours prior, wah, wah, wah. Clear liquids, blah, blah.

You know, pinot grigio is a clear liquid.