Shall we count the number of swirls in my ceiling plaster? No?
What to write about when I'm stuffed to the gills with snot and apathy? Should I share the fascinating details of my seasonal allergic rhinitis, the engrossing tale of my brother-in-law's two-day visit? Or perhaps a few hundred words on What I Have Stored in the Downstairs Freezer?
Once the grievous Pill-induced vomiting passed and my head and stomach contents agreed to a tentative truce with the new dosage, I seemed to run out of blogging gas. The ongoing inability to breathe through my nose may also have something to do with it, as being perforce slack-jawed makes me feel quite dim and uninspired. (O, powerful god of saline nasal spray, hast thou deserted me forever?)
Today, I have done one thing, and one thing only, aside from lolling around snuffling: I applied on-line for a job. It sounds like a good job--a really good job, even--but as callous injustice likes to find a way whenever I fervently will otherwise, it turns out that my most-reviled-ever boss is now directing the IT group at this new company with the shiny, pretty, precious job. I do not know if he loathes me with reciprocal vigor, as I am generally rather diplomatic with bosses, but I cannot picture him getting the resume from HR and saying, Hot damn! Bugs wants this Project Manager job and she's just the gal to run with it! Can't wait to work with her again--after all, we got along sooooooo well all those years. She'll be a shining star in the IT Department firmament!
I am really starting to worry about employment. We have money enough to get through till September or so, but I have only seen a spare handful of jobs come on the market for which I am qualified. Does nobody need IT group managers anymore? Higher-level generalists? All I see before me are endless seas of job descriptions with extremely limited scopes, each requiring one expert skillset and a pair of blinders.
I'm also experiencing the dawning realization that, if both job and baby ever happen, J. would end up being the primary caretaker, and I think it might just break my heart a little bit to be separated from them, each and every day. J. is the natural choice; he can work from home. I can't. Woe is me.
Have you noticed that I'm big on the self-pity thing these days? Please cyberslap me if you think it will help me snap out of it.