For you, the dress code is casual.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Catching Up

Now that I'm not busy, I can't write. GAH!

I still am unclear about my possible new job. Everything said so far indicates I have the job, but I've not actually heard the words "you're hired" or anything that is a reasonable fascimile thereof.

But it seems like I have it. I was going to ask the woman on my way out, but another person showed up. (During the course of our nearly 2 hours together yesterday, she even gave me a treatment and made me sign a non-disclosure agreement. So, y'know.) It was suddenly a bad time to say, "So, this means I have the job, right?" Sigh.

I'm supposed to hear from her by tomorrow as to when we can plan to do some training together. (We even bickered about money, so I'm thinking 97% I have the job, but still. They're small words but they mean a lot!)

Sigh. Yawn. But I can't write. All I can think about is that it's nearing the end of the longest period of uncertainty I've ever lived under -- 17 months! It's one of those chasms that you get to the other side of and you're left standing there, staring at it, and thinking "Boy, what the fuck was I thinking?" and then marvelling "Gosh, I'm a lucky kid... I made it, I'm here."

I never would've signed up for the ride I've taken. Fuck, no. I'd have gone and gotten an ice cream cone and sat in the shade. I mean, how stupid do you take me for? But I was living with a three-week window on my future for the last year and a bit. Luckily, it all came out in the wash.

Now I know I can handle adversity. Good. I'm kinda tired of it. It's a good thing I'm being kept in suspense here, too, probably. I've always said the worst thing for me is having to have patience. Every job I want then get seems to be a three-week process. This is that, to the day today.

It will be a little less than I wanted, but the job seems to come with the promise of benefits in three months and mutually agreed-upon bonus incentives that will result in cash and/or investments. It sounds like a promising gig. Oh, boy. I want it.

See, I'm not exactly the office type. I'm not crazy about it. I hate offices, honestly. I like people, so I work well with the public. I like casual environments and relaxed places. This office has all antiques all the way through. (My home is all about the antiques.) The lighting's nice. There's a window. Yay.


I can't write. Blah! Soon. I'm going to lie low over New Years, too, and do Stuff for Steff. Avoid the masses, et al. Maybe some writing will happen. I've been doing internal talk instead. You know, sorting myself out from the inside out. Just not ready to commit to the page, I guess. Que sera sera. I wouldn't give a shit about it if it didn't mean the blogs are suffering. Sigh! Tough, I guess.