I'm Losing Track Of My Numbers

I'm on the verge of a very unpleasant conclusion: I'm thinking maybe I might not have a job til after the first of the year.

I can't tell you how scary I find that. But all the interviews I've had have yielded nothing, and all the applications I've submitted have only yielded a very few interviews which have yielded, as mentioned, nothing. If it comes to that, I'm probably going to end up taking a pizza-delivery job or something, if there's nothing happening by Christmas. Just something to bring a little money in, you know?

Fortunately I am once again in a position in which I could do that, if necessity required, because I once again have custody of the truck. LJ called this morning around 7 AM to tell me that his friend was leaving to come back to Chicago, and that he'd be there around 2:00. At about 2:45 he showed up--but no one had told me I was going to need to drive him home after he dropped off the truck. On the long ride out to Maywood during rush hour, I solidified yet another of my growing list of Fundamental Characteristics I Can't Live Without In A Partner. Number one was "a job of some description"--not for the monetary aspect of it, but because if he has a job it serves as a fairly-good indicator that he's not going to be a complete and total leech. Number two, the one I came up with today: "the ability to plan more than five minutes into the immediate future." The next guy will realize, for example, BEFORE he takes the truck, that a) there is a deadline by which he needs to return it, and b) it might be a good idea to have enough money for BOTH legs of the journey before you depart. (He did leave me about six gallons of gas, though, so I won't have to injure anyone. That's a relief.)

The roommate situation continues to hum along; even the cats have learned to cohabit, and Snickers has been found asleep on Tim's bed more than once, much to my jealous maternal dismay. (I've accepted it, but the minute I find that kitten sucking his tail on Tim's bed, I'm taking him up to my room and locking him in there. The cat, not Tim. Tippy-Tail is for cat-mom's room ONLY.) I looked around the house this morning--clean kitchen, everything put away, reasonably-well-stocked fridge and shelves, vacuumed living room, sleeping cats, rearranged furniture--and I said "You know, things have just been so much...better since you've been here." It's true. The house is absolutely cleaner--a team effort--and it looks lived-in in a GOOD way, not in the clutter-explosion/high-end crackhouse way it looked when LJ's friends were tromping in and out at all hours of the day and night. It looks like a home, sort of, even if it's a starving-artist Bohemian aesthetic--which pretty well fits the personalities of the creatures who live here.

And speaking of the creatures who live here, I promised you a naughty-Snick picture; well, here it is.

Oh, wait--no it isn't. Because Blogger is being a butthead again. How refreshing and unusual--Blogger being a butthead and not letting me do something. What ARE the chances?

So I'll put it this way instead: as soon as Blogger pulls its brain out of mothballs and remembers what happens after we upload a picture, you'll get to see my Snick-pic. Stoopid Blogger.