...And Waiting...

My beloved temp job is finally coming to an end. Soon I will no longer be able to just sit around reading blogs and knitting all day.

Or rather, soon I will be sitting around reading blogs and knitting all day, I just won't be being paid to do so.

There is an alternative to this scenario: I could get a real job. Where they pay me to do work. Surprising as it may seem, I am not averse to this idea.

Or maybe it's not so surprising. We have a mortgage. And blogs get boring and repetitive. And I think I'm getting carpal tunnel from all the knitting. And I'd like this cute-new-dress thing to happen more often than just once a year. SO. I'd like a real job. And there's a job offer there waiting for me! Sort of. In all the ways that a job offer could be a job offer without actually being one.

And while I have great love for the person who has given me the not quite-job offer, I am about done pulling my own hair out and am contemplating moving on to hers. I feel like a puppy watching his owner wave the stick around and fake throw it and JUST THROW THE GODDAMN STICK ALREADY.

Or don't! Give me the freedom to look forward to couch time and complicated cooking time!

And yet I wait. And I don't blink because I might miss the stick-throw.

Martini tonight? No, I think this calls for margaritas.