Two more resumes sent out. Maybe I'll squeeze in a third.
I hate Friday-Saturday. I have to work Friday night, sleep (kinda), then Saturday morning. I really wish I was born in Italy or something. I don't dig this whole working-to-live thing. Why can't we work 2-3 days a week and enjoy what little time we have during the rest?
Ruby, one of the two housecats, is staring intently at the newest animal in the menagerie; Rick James. She's been doing this for ...about two hours solid now. I placed the cage on the floor to provide her with unfettered access. Their hissing phase is long gone. Rick James is still doing his best Clint Eastwood in Escape From Alcatraz impersonation with limited success, spectacularly unaware that his hard-earned efforts would be met with an immediate, certain and ignominious death if he actually pulled it off.
Something about being careful what one wishes for enters my mind.
And the fish are still eating rocks.
I wonder if my habits look as bizarre as thiers do.