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Wednesday, Behold my mighty precognition, mortals, and tremble Sorry about the lack of journalage yesterday, people -- it was a boring day. Figured I'd spare you another "Got up, brushed my teeth, ate, wrote, went to bed" entry. Especially since today is so much more interesting. Okay, let me preface this by admitting something that will probably lift eyebrows even more than they usually are by my antics (but you can just stop rolling those eyes, thank you very much) -- I am mildly precognitive. That is to say, I get occasional flashes of future events. Despite the best efforts of Miss Cleo and her ilk, this isn't really that big of a deal -- lots of people can do it, and to be perfectly honest it isn't that accurate of a sense since the future is always changing. Anyway, back in April when TBS ruined my life with Scandanavian glee, I tried to figure out if I could tell when I was going to be working again. Much to my disgust, the answer kept coming back, "middle of August." (For those of you interested in how this works, I visualize a period of time as a collection of translucent, colored blocks strung together on a cord. When I try to tell when something's going to happen, the pertinent block will give off some sort of signal, usually a light -- in this case, I kept getting a pale white light halfway through the pretty yellow block that is August). I kept telling myself, "Nah, this is screwy, it won't take that long, you'll get something before then." Well, as you all know by now, I didn't. And as the clock ticked over to the 15th last night I could feel that pale glow slapping me in the face, so I expected things of interest to happen today. And I wasn't wrong -- in the morning, I found out that I'd won first place in the Space Wizards in Love story contest. Which was both a shock and a delight -- considering how many dings my sense of my technical writing ability has been collecting these last few weeks, having someone tell me, "Yeah, you ARE a good writer" was gratifying. First prize was a gift certificate for Amazon.com, so I ordered the 2002 Writer's Market. I'm such a grind, I know. In retrospect, I'm glad the morning started off well, because it went downhill from that point. I stopped off at the mailbox and found a ding letter today from that national paramilitary organization I interviewed with all those weeks ago. Oh, well -- I don't think the Boy Scouts could have handled me, anyway. Then, as part of my plan to raise the necessary money to pay the utility bills this month, I went out to sell some jewelry (the nice ruby and diamond earrings and necklace you forced me to buy, Jules), figuring, "Well, I paid close to $500 for this stuff -- if I toss the $80 sterling silver Wedgwood pendant in there, I should clear around $300, just enough to pay the phone and electric bills." Ha. And ha again. Imagine my shock when the nice man at the jewelry store said, "Ma'am, we buy on the basis of gold weight, and this is really light. You'd wind up getting less than $50 for the necklace and earrings, and I can't do anything about the pendant." So I hit another place, thinking that this can't be the popular viewpoint. Same answer. And again at another place, and another place. I returned home sick with stress because this meant I was going to have to ask Lyndon for the money, after I'd told him that I had everything under control and he didn't need to send me anything more this month (and to be honest I wasn't sure he had it, in which case I would be cut off from the internet by next Thursday and reading by candlelight soon afterwards). So I paced, and fretted, and listened to my stomach acid etch yet another hole in my digestive system, and finally got on-line to submit more resumes (thank you, Jerry, for sending all those postings my way -- if I wind up permanently employed soon, I suspect it'll be due to you) and vent yet again on my SFFNet newsgroup. At which point the beauteous Rachel Hartman sent me an email -- a friend of hers had a business website that needed overhauling, and would I be interested in the work? I thought back to my premonition, and remembered the date. Whoa. Admittedly, I was kinda hoping the work would be of a more permanent nature, but money is money. So I spoke to the client, laid out what I'd do for her, she agreed-- --and the flat-rate payment will just be enough to cover the utilities. Serendipity can be a wonderful thing. I just wish I could pick some winning Lotto numbers, too.
Moving redux I spoke to the boy again tonight about the spectre of moving. We agreed with a heavy heart that if I don't get something by the beginning of September, I need to start sending out resumes to non-Dallas locations and we'll just have to bite the bullet, pack and move. He's got a few possibilities State-side that he's investigating, and he was willing to commute as long as I had a job here, but if I'm not working there's no point to staying in Dallas. Which sucks, because I like Dallas. I have friends here, now, and a kick-ass writing group. I know where all the stores are, and I can always get Dr. Pepper in the restaurants. And I don't wanna move again, oh GOD I don't wanna move again. If they'd just lift this silly headcount freeze, I'd even go to work for TBS again like a good little drone. I dunno. Maybe one of the resumes I submitted today will find a kindly home, and a lovely, kind hiring manager will call me tomorrow and cry, "You! Yes, you! Our corporation needs you! Please come and work for us immediately, and we'll pay you real money and let you eat something other than peanut butter!"
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