Fryday

That is a play on words, but it is how I usually feel at the end of my work week. Fried. It's not that my job is so hard. It's that my job is a lot of work, and I care about getting it done. But I dont fight this job, my co-workers or management. That would be too much. And I wouldn't have lasted here for 10 years if I did.

This has been a week. A milestone yesterday, a push to write more in this blog and in my journal. A commitment to myself to explore my feelings more. A commitment to read another novel. Getting household chores done. Getting and sending a Father's Day gift. Yeshe being injured and slowly recovering. My mother changing her mind 3 times in a week about when she was going to come by to visit. F not being able to decide if she is actually going to go away next week or not. Trying to turn vegetarian while slowly becoming anemic and craving rare beef. Fighting fatigue that comes with middle age.

Last week I applied for a new position here. Today I had the interview. It went well. I think I'm very qualified for it and probably won't get it. It could be a paycut although I asked that I not be offered the job if it were going to be a pay cut. I should know by Monday. But I enjoyed the interview process so much that it almost doesn't matter if I get the job or not. I would like to but if I don't, it'll be ok. I did good.

I'm gonna go home now. The little cub is having dinner sent to the house. No cooking. No clean-up. I want to do yard work, rest, read, sleep, and hang out this weekend. Not sure what F has after work tomorrow but a movie would be in good order. I want to see "Ocean's 13" because it looks like fun and I can look at handsome men.