Hello, everyone. I’m still getting used to this new blogging format so please forgive me as I slog through this unfamiliar territory.
Anyhoo, here at casa Valkyrie stuff has been going on — we’ve been slowly working on renovations to the kitchen as well as flooring through the kitchen, dining room, and into the previously sunken living room. After the old, hideous, shiny white tile was demolished, we were in need of some concrete patching, and so I called in a contractor, who said the phrase, “Why don’t you just fill in the sunken living room?” So we did!
Now the whole front of the house seems like a huge swath (neener) of wide, open space. Not that we’ve been using it at all — it seems to just be too hot there (it’s west-facing) and the huge windows, while being the Cadillac of double-glazing, don’t seem to do much to keep out the sheer 114* heat of Arizona.
Speaking of Arizona, it rained this morning, which nearly made me leap with joy. In what other state does everything stop simply because of falling precipitation?
In other news, I’m still pounding the pavement looking for gainful employment. I did in fact have an interview yesterday morning, after which I simply wanted to go home, curl up, and cry. I don’t think I’m asking too much to find employment during, oh, say, normal working hours, during the daytime, and not on some sort of rotating schedule, as opposed to working days one week and graves the next. Since I’m opposed to working graves ever, and since I told the interviewers so in those exact terms, I suspect I will not be contacted for possible employment.
Ditto with the other place where I went to the interview, hopeful with anticipation, whereupon the interviewer spent the first fifteen minutes telling me the many ways the job sucked.
Isn’t that just dandy?
Couple that with the fact that while this company is a national company with clients all over the country who may require services in states other than their own, absolutely everything was written in longhand and nothing was put into any kind of computerized database.
Oh well, at least the Hubster commiserates with me although he is quite concerned with my mental health, especially after the other night when I pulled him out of his chair, onto to floor of the den, while squealing, “I’m a little fuzzy bunny, come and find me!”
I mean, wouldn’t you be worried?
Especially if the little fuzzy bunny began doing motorcycle stunts:
Is there money to be made doing such things? Maybe I should rethink my career choices.