Well, in a way I guess I'm glad. I normally hide the serious ranting because I'm afraid that people will think I'm seriously unhinged (as opposed to just mildly nuts). Yet people have been so damn supportive, it almost makes me ashamed that I complained in the first place.
Of course, I'm NOT ashamed...the whole point is to get this stuff off my chest. Clear the air. Stop it from munching on me like some sort of soul eating bacteria. Antbiotics for the spirit. Can we beat this simile to death? Sure I can. It's MY journal, after all.
While I owe a few of y'all a personal reply, I want to clear up a few points:
- No, it's not the interviews that are goign wrong. I actually interview VERY well... all three were very close, and I was edged out by a slim margin. That "thin letter" actually was usually a personal phone call from the hiring manager, all of whom made it clear that it was literally a coin toss in each case.
I think my frustration is NOT getting the interviews. If I got them, at least I would feel as if I were getting somewhere, even if I didn't get the jobs.
- I found the wallet. I realized there was only one place it COULD be, which was Roni's, and that if she couldn't find it, it had to be under one corner of the bed (where looking from either side or the ends would miss it). Turns out it was remarkably close to where I expected it to be. You know, there's something about that moment, when you feel your hand on something you had half convinced yourself was gone forever, when you feel this sort of "whoosh!" of relief... it was almost worth misplacing the damn thing to begin with.
- Michele worked on my sinus trouble last night, and (after inflicting MUCH pain on the appropriate facial pressure points) my head was a lot better. However, when I woke up this mornign I realized I had somehow managed to torque my upper back. Since I wasn't doing much as far as lifting (or even wild sex) this was a surprise. Robin, bless her, told me that Dr. Jeff (my chiropractor) had hours in Boulder Creek proper after 4 PM on thursdays (I knew he was there in the morning...the afternoon hours were news to me). I called his machine in town, and it confirmed it.
So I gingerly drive in (It's hard to drive safely without turning your head and upper body in certain ways, and some of those motions were intensely painful), park in front of the office 5 of 4 to try and squeeze in an emergency visit (the very first time I've ever shown that much self care, damn it!)... and saw a white sheet taped to the inside of one of the windows. My heart sinking, I approached the office and read it: He was out that afternoon for a "personal matter".
I went home and bummed the flexeril off of Rob (bless her twice!) and made it to the city. I took a Codeine/Ibuprofen first, which barely touched it. I took a whole flexiril about two hours ago, and IT didn't touch it. That's when Roni gave me the oxycontin...and it's a tribute to how screwed up my back is that I can still use my fingers and type this an hour later. It is getting a little harder to think, though.
Anyway, I'm guessing I'll be better tomorrow. A big round of hugs to all of you for thinking of me.