Zzzzz

So, a four-day weekend of cleaning, recycling, brushing cats, doing laundry, and total organization. Not to mention a combined total of about 11 hours of sleep each day. Just what I needed to face these fuckwits once more.

My fishy witchy tendencies are spot-on lately, too: I knew that Jill at Venturi partners would get me the interview downtown first, guess what? It came. I will now have a "dental appointment" Tuesday afternoon. I was thinking of Mr. Q Sauce from Tennessee, one of my former co-workers. Guess what? He sends me an email. I was also right about the power-3 workout on the ice Friday morning. Yup, I'm right. I'm not paranoid. It's going to happen. And the Fuckwit Circus will probably be pissed off about Tuesday. I could care less. I'm getting so desperate I'm ready to quit and just go temp to perm somewhere. Then, I think to myself, if I survived that acting school shithole with a job hunt that lasted 11 months, I can keep going.

The kindest thing they could do would be to give me a package and shove me out, but that won't happen. They're going to torture me.

Doesn't matter. I still have 11 vacay days left (that's two per month for the rest of the year), and I'm going to do whatever I want.

With Bag O'Rocks snippy comment in my head, "You're not here more than you are."

That's going to be what they say when I finally leave ONCE AND FOR ALL.

This job market truly sucks.