Wrong turns.

I've been thinking lately that the nice thing about being someplace new, especially if you've got plenty of time, is that you never take a wrong turn. Either you're getting where you're trying to go or you're learning more about your new city.

That was not the case this afternoon. I was definitely taking wrong turns. It took me two hours to get to the bank. It was supposed to be about forty-five minutes, which is what it took to get back. It took so long primarily because 53 is a screwed-up road and I didn't read all the signs carefully enough the first time. I had to get directions from the bank and then from Mapquest to get there. Once I did everything was straightforward, though.

When I got back I called Asia and she suggested starting to look for houses just after the holidays. I need to apply for a job today. There was nothing in Sunday's classifieds. I'm feeling a little guilty for not getting a holiday job, but I really don't want to and I can afford it and I wouldn't be able to work on the busiest days of the season anyhow. I was thinking last night, while Eric's sister talked about how much money she was making in her new job and what she was spending it on besides her student loans, I used to make that much money, and I've been financially responsible my entire life, why am I having to be so careful with it? and then I realized that it's because I've been financially responsibly my entire life--which admittedly has not been that long, but still--that I can afford to be unemployed for the next several months if it becomes necessary. I really am doing okay. And I still don't regret quitting my job and don't expect to.

Turnaround

The computer is fixed--it was the RAM; I'm borrowing a stick of Eric's for now and will be getting the replacement sticks in about a week--and it's sixty degrees out. I have to drive out to Oak Harbor still, but it's sunny and warm and I think I know where my missing Billy Joel CD went. Change is good.

I love technology.

My new computer will not work. First, it was shutting down randomly; that turned out to be because the fan wasn't mounted properly and it kept overheating. Now, it's randomly having fatal errors. It doesn't seem to be the hard drive. It doesn't seem to be the CD drive unless it's both. It could be the motherboard or the processor chip or the RAM. I'm learning all sorts of things about how computers work that I didn't know when my computer was working fine. We can't take it back easily because we ordered it online and it's a Frankenputer. I am not pleased. Eric is beyond displeased, probably mostly because this was supposed to be something fairly straightforward in his area of expertise that he was going to do for me and it's turned into this pain.

Otherwise, things are going well. Except for the snow and the ice and the cold, but that's going away now and it's not so bad when I don't have anywhere I'm required to drive except four miles to where I can get food and company and a bed whenever I'm tired of being alone.

The new start

It's a gray, cold, rainy sort of day. It's exactly the sort of day for staying at home with cocoa and a book and enjoying the fact that I don't have to go to work, and that's exactly what I've been doing. This is the first day that everything's been put away (except for one half-full box of office supplies and one half-full box of...stuff...that I think I'm just going to put away as is) and my cable's been installed and I've been at home to relax and start to do the things I said I would do once I got settled. I guess that means I'm settled. I have files and final bills to send out and a new computer to anticipate and the quilt to make for Marie.

At my going-away party everyone talked and laughed and I felt a little left out, which is only right I suppose, but not much; and the pizza was excellent and I got a gift certificate to Hobby Lobby, which will be nice for quilt backing and batting, and Margaret Atwood's Negotiating With the Dead from Jeri (whose book I helped with). And I saw Kathleen and KB. Kathleen had agreed to help me move. Ivy asked me if I had enough help and when I said no, volunteered herself and Ron. But the only one who showed up was Marie.

She gave me a scarf she had crocheted herself. It's blue and wonderfully soft and I was touched. Apparently I wasn't so bad an officemate after all--either that or she was just so glad to be rid of me. It was a long day--why do I have so much stuff?--but we got everything packed, including my car on the trailer, by dark. Then we went to J. R. Scotese's for dinner and then Marie went home and Eric and I went to start for Toledo and the U-Haul truck dashboard lights didn't work. We hadn't noticed--or rather, Eric hadn't noticed, because I had been chicken and asked him to drive the truck from the rental place, which was a convenience store, by the by; we only knew to stop there because we saw the trucks--in the daytime, but now it was dark and driving with no idea of how fast he was going or how much gas he had left sounded neither appealing nor safe.

So we called the U-Haul emergency number, and also Eric's mom Brenda. U-Haul kept us on hold and then asked the problem and then said they'd call back with an ETA on a technician to help us and didn't. Brenda asked Eric to find the fuse box and switch out the bad fuse with a nonessential one to get us going. But the batteries in my flashlight were dead--I've replaced them--and when he finally did it with my tiny red pocketknife light and the light from my cell phone it didn't help. We called U-Haul back and I talked to a nice young lady who said that it was now so late no vendors were open to help us. I said, You'll reimburse us for our hotel costs tonight, yes? and she said yes. So we went to the Hampton on Colonel Glenn, which I believe was the hotel I stayed in my first night in Dayton when I interviewed, and in the morning the dashboard was of course visible so we just drove.

We unpacked everything very quickly and then went off for dinner. The apartment isn't bad. I'm really glad I have brand-new carpet, though, because it isn't very good either and the new carpet makes it feel much nicer. Still, it's cheap, and it's only six months. Over the next few days--last week--I got things organized and cleaned the kitchen floor twice, once because it was visibly filthy and once because my socks kept sticking to it even afterward. I've spent some time getting lost while driving. I've responded to a few job ads and ordered a couple of Christmas presents (Christmas in six weeks! Isn't that wild?) and gone apple-picking and endured a minor cold. Toledo's not bad so far.

This week I start up my usual employments--sewing and knitting and, once again, writing--and try not to worry about my jobless state. I'm actually not worried about it, but that worries me itself because I know I'm lazy and would be happy doing nothing as long as possible, and technically speaking if I'm frugal it will be possible for quite a while. Having no income isn't the same as having no money, but I'm trying to treat it that way so that it doesn't become the same. Fortunately my pursuits are pretty cheap (and I have my Hobby Lobby gift certificate to help out) and so are my living expenses for the moment. I'd forgotten how carefree apartment living is. Maybe this is just what I need.

Limbo

Hi. I live in Toledo now. It's weird--that thought, not the city. The move went reasonably well except for a lack of dashboard light that ended up with Eric and me staying in a hotel Saturday night instead of driving up 75. I'm making Marie a quilt because she was the only one who showed up to help and we would still be moving if not for her. Most of my furniture is in place now and the boxes are being unpacked. I'm over at Eric's now, waiting for people to get home for dinner, and this is all the Internet I get because I didn't call the cable company. Or rather, I didn't get through. I need to hunt up a phone book. Because I really want an Internet connection. Then I can write about my apartment and how it feels to be out of work and how very filthy my kitchen floor was and how I was too chicken to drive a U-Haul with a car trailer. But it all depends on the cable company.

19 change-of-addresses down, 2 to go.

Tip: whenever you know you'll be planning to cancel a dial-up service, always, without fail, call two months early and use the two free months they offer you. I daresay you could call three or four months early and negotiate.

Just insurance and cable left.

The big day

Today is my last day of work. Today I finish up any little tasks I've been given (one). Today I use the postage meter for the last time. (Yes, I pay for it.) Today I take the last personal items from my third of the office--my talking bug and my African violet. Today I wipe my computer clean of all bookmarks and personal files (resumes and job listings mostly). Today I say good-bye to a regular paycheck, albeit for a short time (I hope).

Last night I taught Peggy and Marie to knit, and they both caught on pretty quickly--probably partly because they both crochet and partly because I taught them the easier (if slower) way. Marie knitted a little loose, which surprised me, since I understand 97% of all knitters start out way too tight. Peggy was almost exactly perfect in her tension, which surprised me even more. They both seemed to enjoy it, though, and Peggy has promised to finish a scarf and send me a picture of it. The other group members, who are avid Harry Potter fans, have told me to come down next time--first Wednesday in December--so that we can discuss the movie.

It was a nice night. Didn't leave me enough packing time, of course, but oh well. I'm being very lethargic about the packing. I've done the living room, the basement, the bathroom, and both bedrooms except for some hanging clothes and my hats. That leaves the kitchen, the breezeway (shoes and coats), and the garage. Tonight I'll be working on the ktichen and the clothes and washing my sheets, bathmats, and any other remaining laundry. Oh, my washer and dryer, how I'll miss you.

Tonight is my going-away party. Marie had to leave early last night to get to a store whose name she refused to divulge, saying she was being sneaky because she had to go and get something secret. (I'm very dense about these sorts of things. I wouldn't have realized her odd behavior meant anything if she hadn't outright said so.) We're all meeting at LaRosa's at 5:30 for pizza and talking and some sort of secret. It should be fun. And a good way to end my last day.

(I brought in four packs of lunchmeat to leave in the kitchen. It's not as nice as when Carrie brought in three tubs of local ice cream, but maybe somebody here will want them and it's too late for them at the house.)

Yay for justice and Liberty Mutual.

I got a check from my insurance company yesterday. $500. My deductible. They got Idiot Green Truck Driver to pay up. Justice prevails! I don't hate moving quite so much anymore.

In which Jennifer Homeowner laments the loss of her identity, only considerably less elegant.

The apartment leasing agent and I are on "Jen" terms now. As in, she's started calling me Jen. Since she's trying to be helpful, I'm trying not to be annoyed. She has verified for me twice that my new address is what she wrote it down to be, verification I needed since the electric company couldn't find it in their database. Apparently they have one number off, as we verified by checking meter numbers. Anyway, that's set, and if the check I sent today gets there Friday I'll be fine. If not, I'm going to have to drive up there Friday and give her another check, an act I'm not looking forward to at all--though it might let me pick up Eric and thus cancel the car dolly. But no, I'm going to need my car to carry all the fragile stuff anyway--telescope, computer, DVD player, VCR, two stereos, electronic keyboard. And I need that five hours I'd lose because I'm not nearly as motivated to get everything packed as I ought to be.

I hate moving. I knew I was going to reach a time when I no longer liked moving and this is it. I want to be there, I don't want to be here, but I don't like this process of doing it. From the time I went to Baltimore for grad school in 1999 up until this move to Toledo, I have moved seven times. That's an average of more than a move a year. And only to three places, really--Baltimore, Seattle, Ohio. Why do I keep changing homes? It's not to prevent me from accumulating stuff, because I've accumulated (books mostly, but also, you know, a sewing machine and a fabric stash and a Papasan chair and a KitchenAid food processor). If I kept going different places, as I'd originally wanted to, that would be fine, but no, it's only been three, and I'm now at the point where I don't want to be a stranger in a new city anymore; I want to be where my friends and my family are. And I'm still going to have to keep moving, in six months to a house (why do I need a house?) and in a couple of years to the West Coast and possibly a couple of years after that back if Eric can't stand it. I have to keep all my boxes. (My new apartment has the water heater in the walk-in closet. I'm thinking of taking the second bedroom to sleep in and making that room the office/craft room so that it doesn't bother me every morning when I get dressed.)

Oh, and the buyers don't want the washer and dryer, which is reasonable but disappointing. "If she leaves them, we'll take them," they said, via The Agent. Ha ha ha. Now I'm definitely not leaving them. Only not leaving them involves unhooking them and hauling them up the basement stairs (which probably means taking the railing off) and putting them in storage for six months. I don't wanna. I hate moving.

How to make truffles.

The interview didn't go too badly. They didn't ask me any questions that required knowing how to do statistics, just wanted to know what sort of tests I'd done. I think I came off as a little too research-oriented, since the position's more focused on analysis and service, but I answered all the questions and they were nice to me. There were five of them, so it was a good thing they were nice to me. I couldn't remember any of their names and only a few of their affiliations, though.

Also? After my performance review I felt much less guilty about using sick time to cover the interview.

I made truffles Thursday to bring to a couple we were visiting Friday night. This is M's reconstituted recipe, as tested by me over three days:

***
1 bar (500 g) Trader Joe's Pound Plus chocolate (I used dark instead of bittersweet or semisweet...it's good.)
½ pint whipping cream
Mint flavoring (and then a little vanilla because I used peppermint oil, not extract, and I thought it tasted funny)

Day 1. Slowly warm the whipping cream and flavoring on the stove to just boiling. Remove from heat, add chocolate in chunks, and stir until melted. Put back on the stove over very low heat if it just won't melt any farther and stir continuously. Place in the fridge to cool.

Day 2. Realize the chocolate is far too hard to do anything with. Let bowl sit on counter until it reaches room temperature. Chip chunks of truffle out of the bowl and attempt to roll with clean hands. After the first perfectly-rolled truffle, realize truffle does not really roll. Decide that irregular chunks look better anyhow. Drop in cocoa powder to coat. Place in lovely box cleverly lined with aluminum foil and put in back seat of car in cool garage so as not to forget it the next day.

Day 3. Drive to Toledo. Leave truffles in boyfriend's kitchen while interviewing for a job. Afterwards, present test piece to boyfriend. When boyfriend says cocoa powder is too bitter, argue briefly, then consent to add powdered sugar. Remove truffles from box and place in plastic container with powdered sugar. Place lid on container and shake gently. Replace truffles in box while contemplating the interesting pattern of white powder on brown powder. Consider things one could do with chocolate-flavored powdered sugar. Throw out chocolate-flavored powdered sugar anyway. Decide to coat with evenly mixed cocoa powder and powdered sugar next time. Present test piece to boyfriend. When boyfriend says it's perfect, present test piece to boyfriend's mother. When boyfriend's mother says it's too bitter, ignore her.
***

They seemed to be a success.

My performance review

TB caught me in the hall today and asked me to step into his office. (Actually he said "Do you have a minute?" and when I said yes he turned around and strode down the hall toward his office. But anyway.) There, he said that Bob and Allen were the ones who had decided not to do my performance review. "You weren't looking at much of a raise anyway," he said. "And it would have been over a period of six weeks. So Bob said to give you these instead." He handed me two laminated tickets, each reading "Dinner for Two - This certificate is good for dinner at a fine restaurant of choice - Not to exceed $50."

"You get a receipt from the restaurant," TB said, "and turn it into our admin person for reimbursal."

"Oh," I said. "And how am I supposed to do that when I'm moving three hours away?"

"Well, you don't. I think you're supposed to use them before you go."

Then he asked if I still wanted to do the performance review, and when I said no told me that I haven't come out of my shell, that when he goes into my office he gets the impression he's interrupting my work, and that I should have been looking actively for work from, you know, the people who didn't want me on their projects.

It's six days until my last day. It so happens we were planning to go to a fine restaurant of choice this Saturday, so I guess I'll get to use one. The other I'll just hang onto, I guess, or maybe mail to Leisha or Marie when I'm gone. How often do you get your raise in a lump sump like this?

Panic: the prospect of wearing the slacks and business jackets your mother keeps sending you.

So I'm still wanting to go buy an advanced statistics book and memorize it, but of course I can't do that and it would be foolish. I have to remember: I can always walk out of this interview if it gets too embarrassing. They're the ones who read my cover letter and resume in which I did not say I had taken advanced statistics (basic, yes, but I don't even mention that except for "analyzing data using SPSS and Excel"). The position isn't even mostly statistics, it's more about the whole survey process, but I'm focused on it because they said graduate study was a requirement and also it's a failing of mine--one I wish I didn't have, as I actually rather like statistics when I'm not being told "Run every test you can think of and we'll use whatever makes us look best."

I think they're just interviewing me so they'll look good to whoever is monitoring their candidate-seeking activity. Also it really is a they, according to the lady who scheduled this with me; she said, "The Committee." Also I'm convinced that I'll be late and disgruntled and they'll start right off with questions I can't answer and I'll look terrible and nobody will ever hire me, ever. What's my worst quality? (I don't emote. Or, alternately, I SUCK.) How would you find out how many students only came here as a second choice? (Ask them.) What's the Mann-Whitney value for these two sets of data? Yeah. I need to remember that this isn't my ideal job anyway, just one I think I could do and maybe even enjoy. And if I turn out to look like a total idiot, they won't hire me anyway so I'll never see them again so what's the big deal? Borders is always hiring.

Scene from This Transitional Phase, part nine.

Cross that one off the list. The apartment office person called me. "Hi there! I just got your check, and I'm looking at your application. Do you have a job yet?"

"Not yet," I said.

"Then how are you going to pay the rent?"

So this really fucking irritates me. People keep asking me some variant of this. Do they think I plan never to work again because, I don't know, I think I can get away with it even though nobody else can? Do they think I don't understand that in order to pay rent X I must bring in at least X dollars? Do they--meaning the apartment people now--think I don't understand what a contract is? Yeah, I know they probably get that sort of thing all the time. It still annoyed me. "I'm going to get a job," I said, trying to be polite. "And I have savings."

"Oh. Because of course we have to check your finances, and you gave me the information from your current job, and if you don't have one up here...well, I just wanted to check with you before I talked to Corporate."

I gritted my teeth. It was probably uncalled for. "I can pay the entire six months now, if you need me to."

"Oh. So you can pay the entire sum up front? Okay, they'll be happy to hear that, I think. Well, I'll give them a call and get back to you. Thanks!"

So that's nice. The lesson here: never go anywhere without a job. I have a job interview this Friday. Did I mention I have a job interview? It's a position that would run surveys and statistics and I'm convinced they're going to get me into the interview room and ask me to calculate all sorts of complicated statistics by hand with trick questions and boundary violations, but I'm anxious to get this job just so people will quit asking me--not that they are, but it feels this way--

--No, forget it, I'm just making myself upset. Back to work. I'm actually busier now than I was before I handed in notice. Figures.

Calls. Conferences. Vegetarianism. Snow. Coworkers. And more calls.

I just got a phone call on my cell phone from (937) 000-0000. I didn't pick up. I've also gotten a couple of missed calls from Mississippi. I have this terrible feeling that the latter is going to be a scammer pretending to have been devastated from the hurricanes and won't I send money? Anyway, if it's important they'll leave a message. They haven't.

The CASW New Horizons briefing was very interesting. It was, as I should have realized, primarily a networking thing, not so much an educational briefing--though they had some great scientific presentations and I did learn a lot. And talked to some friendly people, one of whom was a gray-haired gentleman who said if I figured out how to freelance I should let him know, because he was thinking of trying it once the time was right. And ate some good food. And realized that I'm completely unused to city driving anymore, because the 361(?)/279 interchange in downtown Pittsburgh rattled me into cursing even though I was only going to the hotel for the evening. I think I was also on edge because I'm just not a networking sort of person. And I've decided that I'm not going to pretend I think that's a bad thing. It's just not me. So I'm not going to make myself do it.

Also on Monday evening there was a reception at the History Museum, very swanky, with black-vested attendants circulating with trays of hors d'oeuvres and fake ice decorating the tables while the river (what river is it?) gleamed blackly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lawrence Krauss gave a talk on his new book, Hiding in the Mirror. Think Billy Crystal with a physics Ph.D. and a crusade against stupid people. I was horribly disappointed he didn't have the book for sale right there, but I suppose it wouldn't have been classy. I was also horribly disappointed when the talk ended, even though I'd been sitting sideways in a chair for an hour and was feeling slightly not-goodish due to my unbalanced meal.

(Upon entering the museum I got in one of two lines, and the lady taking care of this line asked, "Did anyone order a vegetarian meal?" I said I'd like one, and she said, "Did you ask for one?" I said no, I hadn't seen that as an option anywhere, and she said doubtfully, "You'll have to check upstairs." Upstairs were only the swanky hors d'oeuvres bearers, though, and it turned out that the other line had had vegetarian meal tickets. I ended up with a couple of onion tartlets and a tiny cup of butternut squash soup from the trays, plus salad, three rolls--my seat partner insisted on giving me one of hers when I told her why I was just staring at my plate of chicken and crab cake--and an apple-filled phyllo pastry for dessert.)

I drove back Tuesday morning; I'd originally planned to stay for that morning's sessions but they were all at CMU and I wasn't sure I'd be able to get back, plus I was tired and a bit discouraged, so I left. Driving through the snow. It was so pleasant to be back in a land of topography, though. (Eight more weeks until we fly to Seattle. Eight more weeks of Christmas shopping. Oh Lord.)

When I got to work in the afternoon, I found that TB had canceled my performance review. "It's not necessary now," he wrote. Wuss. I've requested that we do it anyway. Not only do I not want to let him off the hook (though this will surely come back to bite me when he enthuses for an hour on the theme of "Nobody likes you and it's a good thing you're leaving"), but the performance review is hooked to a retroactive-to-October-1 salary increase and while it's not much, it's still supposed to be mine. I had lunch with Marcia today and she recommended I do that. She was also satisfyingly aghast when I told her the things he had said to me.

I also found a message from The Agent. The appraisal came back $2000 under the selling price. He had told the buyers, "That's easy, we'll just reduce the price $2000 and give you $2000 less in closing costs," but the buyers said, "No...we don't think so" so we're reducing the price $2000 and only giving $1000 less in closing costs. I think this is okay. It still doesn't cut into the money I myself put into the house (unless you count the money for new carpet and disposal and sump pump that may have increased its value) and I really need to sell it now.

So there I am. For the rest of the week, I need to:

• Call the apartment office to see if they're going to give me an address. Unfortunately I don't have their number here, so I'll be doing it tomorrow. An address would be a very good thing.


• Scrounge moving help.


• Pack. We got the books packed last weekend and that honestly seems to be the biggest single thing, but I've still got a mantel full of knickknacks and a room full of craft and office supplies and way too many Christmas decorations and a garage I haven't even thought about yet, plus bookcases and tables to dismantle. I used to like moving, you know.


• Make Phoebe's voodoo doll. I must remember. I promised it would be in her office by the time she gets back Friday.


• Make John brownies for giving me boxes and moving blankets.

It's definitely time for me to be out of here.

Noticed

This? This is awesome. Yay for Google ads.

HR Guy said all I had to do was submit an "I hereby quit this company on this day" letter to TB. So I did that. He was quite cheerful about it, and made hopeful noises about "Maybe now I don't have to do your performance review!" Then I went around telling some people, and now I've just sent a company-wide e-mail--so that the people I don't particularly care about can also know. (That's not quite true. There are people I like just fine but am not close enough to to justify a private conference.) Some people are glad I'm going, some are sorry, and some are just looking forward to the party that they'll inevitably throw for me. I bet they get me a gift certificate to Joann or Michael's. Now that it's done and irreversible, I'm scared but relieved. I'm still glad to be going.

No severance pay for me.

TB postponed my performance review by a week. That's okay. It takes the pressure off him to try to be tactful (not that he ever felt much pressure to be so, I'm sure) and gives me a little more dignity going out--saying "I'd rather move to a different city without a job than work here" rather than "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms." I sent an e-mail to HR Guy, who is now really ex-HR Guy but is still the best person I can think of for this purpose, to ask about the exact procedure for giving notice. The employee handbook says something about a Termination Checklist but doesn't actuallly provide it. So we'll see if he gets back to me.

To ponder.

Hmm. TB has just scheduled my performance review for next Wednesday at 10:30. I feel sure this will be an unfavorable review. That's also the day I was planning to give notice (so that I could take a day to get official documents in or whatever and still be two weeks out). I don't want it to look like I'm quitting because TB told me I was subpar. But that's a little silly. When people ask my plans and learn that I sold my house weeks ago they'll realize this wasn't a decision made in a moment of pique. If I give notice earlier will there be any point to the review? Or what if I give it during the review? As in:

TB: You haven't been giving as much of yourself as you need to in order to succeed here, Jenny. I'm disappointed you haven't taken my advice, blah superior blah. If you really want to stay in this job you're going to need to apply yourself--talk more, ask questions, get involved in projects, find something you can be an early adopter of. Blah blah, pedantic blah.

Me: Actually, I don't want to stay in this job. I'm leaving in two weeks. Thanks though. Have you seen Ken? I need to ask him what the exact procedure is for giving notice. Are we done here?

Not only that, he's just sent out a "work projection" table to fill out for October, November, and December. I cannot in good conscience fill it out past the first week of November. Perhaps my conscience will have to take a quick nap for me then. Hmm...

Conflicted

We saw seven houses yesterday. The one I liked best was the one we saw a couple of Sundays ago at an open house. I would have made an offer on it last night, except: the second story of the house slopes. Noticeably. As in, the closet doors had been cut to accommodate the parallelogram frames. That suggests it's not a recent structural problem, just an extreme demonstration of the house settling, and of course the inspector would determine that (or send somebody who could). But I'm not sure I could live with it anyway. This annoys me greatly since I love the rest of the house and none of the others I saw really struck me as something I wanted to buy.

China says interest rates are climbing and sooner would be better if I can. The Wells-Fargo person says my credit is excellent and I shouldn't have a problem closing because they won't need to check my employment. I think that's what she said. Anyway she was enthusiastic about getting me both in a house (well, a loan) and out of my job. So I could buy the house, and not have to stay down here an extra couple of weeks, if I wanted to. Do I want to? I shouldn't do it just to have a house or an interest rate. I could get an apartment. I don't really want to, but if I don't buy this house I'd better since I do in fact need someplace to live, and I already warned China that I might give up until the spring if I get a lease. (Or not. I started househunting in April last time and found something in July and moved in August.)

And I have to reply to the guy who sent me info on that education-relevant job I applied to and then asked me to let him know if I was still interested. The schedule doesn't thrill me--the prospect of sometimes getting up at 5 AM in particular--but it won't hurt to learn more.

Oh, and the lawn guy mowed my lawn. I gave him a tip. Of my list for this week, I didn't get a hotel in Pittsburgh (the one the conference is at is $180 per night, and I'm thinking of staying at the Ramada two blocks away and just walking over), make the voodoo doll, finish the binding, do anything with Petra, or set up the IRA. If I get some time today I'll do some when I go home, but I'm probably going to take a nap instead, as I drove down from Toledo this morning in time to get to work at nine. I give notice in a week. Despite having no house and no income, this still thrills me.

Rant. Oh, and grass.

My heart hurts. I can't decide if it's silly to let myself be affected by all this or if it would be wrong not to. I can't get a loan without a job unless I have a cosigner who qualifies. Or I could just not quit the job until after closing. I'm thinking about this latter option. I hate to, but I'm thinking about it. I could stay with a coworker or two (or possibly Kathleen), or in a hotel--they give cheaper rates if you rent by the week, yes? Heck, if I were desperate I could sleep in my car and shower in the office shower. I don't think I'm that desperate. I just don't like these options. It would be so much better if I had a job. I applied for a couple today, some from Adecco and one from Monster.com that my education actually--get this--qualifies me for but that I feel I won't have the energy to do well in. Or maybe it's just that I don't have the energy now.

I'm starting to feel like I'm never going to get a worthwhile job again, maybe never a decently-paying job again, and certainly I'll never be able do anything with writing. I know that's not true, of course, and I haven't been so eager to find a job for that terribly long and it took me a year the last time I did it. I'm paying too much attention to my mother. And then my parents think I'm giving up everything because I'm a silly girl with a crush. I think that's the part that's really getting me. If they were supportive, or at least quiet, I'd be mostly okay. But I haven't been able to convince them that I'm not quitting my job and selling my house because of Eric, and because I told Mom about the possibility of school in the first place now that I've told her I'm not going immediately she thinks I'm giving up everything forever. And they're important to me. It's very stupid, even to me writing this out, that this should bother me so. I guess I'm still used to being the good daughter, and if I hadn't done everything exactly right up until about a year ago at least I wasn't doing anything particularly wrong.

This shouldn't bug me so much as it does, it really shouldn't. But I don't want to be contentious and contrary and bad. I don't want to keep having conversations with the phrases "I can't shield you from your mistakes" and "You never do what I say anyway" and "I don't want you to give up all your dreams" in them. For Christ's sake, it's an improvement that I actually have dreams at this point. But they don't know that because I didn't tell them quite what a rough time I was having last year because their worrying would only have made me feel worse, as it's making me feel worse this year. I'm just trying to do something I want to do that I don't think is hurting anyone else. Neither of us should be making this big a deal out of it.

(Incidentally, I'm really sick of having my parents in two separate locations. I know they must be even more sick of it, but I get twice the worried, reproachful conversations this way. And then I tell Mom something and she calls Dad and then Dad e-mails me to tell me that he told Mom to call me and say this and if I don't understand why he suggested that I can call him and we can discuss it.)

It would be easier to just do what they say. At least up to the point where I was so dead from doing what they said that I couldn't do even the easy thing anymore. I wonder if that's why the Asian and Mideastern models of family and community are so successful.

Anyway. Rant over and I'll be talking to the Wells-Fargo person tonight (she was much more helpful than the US Bank person, but I noticed a sign at my bank that said something about rate discounts; maybe I'll stop by on my way up tomorrow) and looking at houses tomorrow. At this rate I'm feeling like tomorrow is the decisive point: either I get a house tomorrow, putting the closing date as soon after November 4 as I can (within a week if possible; the Wells-Fargo person said something about a seven-day guarantee and I don't want to trespass on anybody's hospitality longer than I have to), or I give up until spring and apply for an apartment with the employment history I have now.

Oh, and here's what I hope is the end of the grass saga: The Agent recommended a guy, the guy said he would charge $35-40 for a half-acre, I said it was pretty tall, and he said he'd go look at it. He just called back and said he'd have to go over it two or three times so the price would be $100, and I said fine, do it. Because with the money I've saved by not paying Shawnscape in the last several weeks it's well within my budget. So when I get home the lawn should be cut and I will put the $100 check in the mail with thanks and then I will make sure that the next house I buy has a very tiny yard.

Present

Look what I got!



Marcia at work said to me when I came in the door, "I left you a present." I gave an unenthusiastic "okay" and, when I got to my desk, looked for the stack of papers she had undoubtedly left me to proof. Instead, I found this box of needles. She had gone to an estate sale a couple of weeks ago with her boyfriend. Nobody had bid on this box and they were going to throw it away, so she said "Can I take it?" and brought it to me. It made my day. Look! I got needles in every size from 1 to 13 except 4 and 12, and I got sock dpns (double-pointed needles) and tiny straight needles and ancient plastic needles with wooden ends. I also had two pairs of size 8 needles, but I gave a pair each to Marie and Peggy, both of whom crochet and were interested in learning to knit when I offered a free pair. I have to admit I was hoping to keep one of the pairs, as they're metal and more slippery than my pair of oak ones at home, but 8 is a good size for a beginner and they both picked that size when I offered a choice (with recommendations) and after all I had gotten them for free.

This is what I'm giving Marcia tomorrow as a thank-you:



It's from here, and took me maybe an hour. The yarn is Zara, which is pure wool and so soft and wonderful I want more, more, more. The scarf is chenille, a single chain of crochet, about the most I can do as far as crochet is concerned. I hope she likes it.