Playing with Myself

The house is FINALLY on the market. I realize this should not be an issue of momentous proportion given that it still needs to sell. And it's a terrible market, even though the summer months are our best shot. But it has taken so long to get from our planned market date (May 7) to now, and there have been so many financial screw-ups along the way, that I am just thrilled that the house is officially for sale.

That will wear off in a day or two, no doubt. Then I can start worrying about open houses in absentia and the plants dying, continued unemployment, possible cancer and liver damage from 8 years of contaminated well water, finding a new vet, unrest at home and abroad, etc.

I have interviewed for only one position since coming out to the Land of Nod. It's one for which I am certainly well-qualified (over qualified in the wrong areas, as usual), and I happen to know that only one other person applied for it. However, candidate #2 dropped out before his/her interview, so the department has felt honor bound, for various reasons, to go back to HR for more potential candidates before making a choice. Mr G spins this delightful tale in my favor, but I am beginning to wonder if floundering for other applicants simply means that they don't want to hire me. Not that I'm paranoid. I have an interview next week for a position with the same organization in a different area, so at least I can hang onto the tattered shreds of my dignity and proclaim that someone else is willing to consider paying me very little for a menial position. Go me!

What I really want is a particular position that, at least per the official job posting specs, I'm not qualified for. But I have heard through the grapevine that nobody else who applied for it is qualified either, so I officially tossed my Pittsburgh Penguins cap into the ring. Keep your fingers crossed for door number 3.

Apart from job hunting, unpacking continues at a turtle's pace. On the plus side, there are a lot of cabinets in the new abode -- the old house never had enough cabinets or closets. On the down, the cabinets (and sinks and steps) are all slightly too high for someone of my stature. Even the bottom shelves are not particularly convenient, which is just bizarre. I am not that short at 5' 3" -- CJ and Ms J make me feel like a giant. I have resorted to emptying the contents of packing cartons into cabinets simply so I can get the boxes out of the way, knowing that I will need a stool or step ladder later to organize anyway. Still, the essentials have been out for quite some time and apart from a few items which I really wish would surface immediately (i.e. the power cable to the camera) the place is livable. Both sets of parental units have visited, and the siblings will have seen the place by the end of the month. I am so glad that we are closer to the family... something I never would have said five years ago. I know I've taken my family for granted. It certainly didn't pay to consider my 'friends' my real family, did it? Oh dear, bitter much?

There are many wonderful things about the Land of Nod. Hills and beautiful greenery (I'm trying not to dwell on the implications for icy hills and downed limbs in the winter), lots of parks, beautiful house in a nice neighborhood, people who share our interests even if we have not really had time yet for socializing. On the other hand...

There's no Target. I weep.

Another reason (other than lack of necessary income) why long-term stay at homeness is not a viable option for moi is that my sleeping timetable is wackified. To put it bluntly, I ought to be in bed.

Alas, the cornucopia of pastel pills which keep the madness at bay are not doing much to hinder my racing thoughts these days. Maybe that's not a bad thing, though -- I've been without motivation and words for too long. While I crave the stability and demands of a regular 8-5 gig, I still haven't really had a chance to work through the fairly momentous changes of the last few months. Changing jobs, leaving the job to move to Nod, trying to get the house ready to sell, finding a house here... I had my previous job offer for all of one day before Mr G got a call to interview again in Nod. By rights I shouldn't be keeping it together this well. I blame my support group -- Mr G, Dawn, the family, the exercise bike (whom I have named Spike, just this moment, and it amuses me ). If I'm a wee bit manic so that I can't get to sleep when I should, at least it's only a touch of the crazies. A year ago, I couldn't have imagined being in this existential and literal 'here'. And yet here I am talking to myself again, but I'm doing okay. Imagine that.

I had some thoughts regarding Father's Day, but they will have wait until later because PsychoSpaniel insists that it is time to feign sleep. But for your mockery, I present Mr G, Donald, & Me. Please ignore the double chin. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Our realtor wants to have an open house on Sunday. She'll be taking care of it, which is lovely as I don't see much point in taking on an 8 hour drive simply to chit chat with strangers critiquing the empty box that was once our home. I read somewhere that open houses were more for realtors than buyers anyway, which is funny but makes sense. We only ever saw one house via an open house that we considered buying. On the whole, I think it makes sense to let the professional do the groundwork.

I had a fairly positive job interview today, so perhaps we'll be able to afford both mortgage payments soon. It's not Door #3, but it has some definite perks. The pay scale, alas, is not one of them. In typical 'counting our chickens' fashion, Mr G and I have been debating the merits of Door #1 over Door #2. I understand his concerns about the longterm prospects of Door #2, but I think there is more opportunity there than he realizes. More importantly, when I walked into that office today I felt right at home. Door #1 was more like going to an aunt's house... one that you don't see very often -- everybody is very nice and you're fond of them, but the food is odd, the couch is lumpy in the wrong places, and political conversations must be skirted at all costs. Door #2 felt like the place I wanted to be 5 days a week. Plus, it's just as good a bullpen for Door #3 as the other.

Watch me while I juggle my eggs.

It's Door #1. Ah well.

I love this site. Why did I never find this before? Tread carefully at Ruined Endings.