Business

It's sunny and beautiful but it's raining in my mind. Why is that, anyway? I guess everyone has oddly down days. You'd think this being a Friday would alleviate it, but then there's this assignment that I feel I'm doing badly and don't want to be doing at all (hence the badly) but must finish by Monday or Bucky will tell me how to use Excel again.

I continue to love the walking foot, but Caroline herself continues to fight me. Last night I ended up having to rip out a block of quilting with inexplicably tiny stitches most of the way around--this is not why I had to rip it out, but it did cause the process to take about three times longer than it should have. It is a chilling experience to spend half a minute snagging a half-millimeter of thread only to realize that now that you have it, if you move another muscle you're going to rip into the fabric itself. I'll be so glad when this quilt is over (and I can go on to the next one, and the next, and the next...).

The lady who called yesterday said she'd send me an e-mail with more details about the interview, where to go and who to ask for and so on, and that I should forward my flight times to her that way. No e-mail has arrived. I don't think I'm buying this ticket until I've received said e-mail--and, as Dad suggested, inquired whether they're willing to reimburse me for some or all of it. And I was thinking about what would happen if, for example, Eric got this job that's perfect for him in Portland. I'd like to live in Portland. Nobody I've applied to there seems in the least interested in me, but that's really not very many applications. I could always do temp work, or, as a last resort, bookstore work. I bet Bev and Philip would board me for not very much. Of course then I'd have to live with constant allergic reactions to their cat. There's probably no market for original quilts by someone with no knowledge of color theory. (Though one of my next two projects is going to be the froggy baby quilt. I have no baby designated as the recipient. Who's got a cold baby?) I could be a barista if they'd let me have a notebook for slow times. Or maybe it's time to reconsider that voodoo doll business.

Blecchh. No weekend should start this way. Well, I have three hours to make it better.