To cap off a banner week, I get up at 7:30 and check my business only to find a text from Moda saying that her car was towed. Frack. My tummy is not too incredibly frassy which means that I'm calming down, some. I wait for the Bean to leave, check to see that my car is outside, start it, and get the remnants of the walkway cleared and salted.
Today is a tidying day. The mailbox full of bills/mortgages/utilities only serves as a reminder of how dire this s#it is. I shoot off a couple more emails asking for referrals, top the bills off in order of soonest due to next soonest due. I finish clearing out the kitchen table of the organized crap from emptying the boxes, throwing away dead pens and pens with the deer on it. I set up the command center to have a stack of bills to be paid immediately, unemployment paperwork that came today, pens, and a to-do list. Georgie teh kitteh is now sleeping on half.
Moda and some CB buddies are meeting for sushi and she offered to buy so I relish the opportunity to get out of the house on this gorgeous (albeit cold) and sunny day. Looking in the mirror, however...another story emerges.
Holy crap. I look like Nick Nolte's booking photo. I realize my costume for the last few days has been my bathrobe, the same jammie bottoms and same green shoddy tank top and even shoddier sweat shirt. And my five o'clock shadow threatens to overrun my face all the way up to my knappy hairdo.
Feeling a new man upon exiting the shower (checking business. No sign of referral request responses. New man is not happy to have been felt.) I head out.
After a grumpy sushi lunch- Moda b/c of her car and the fact that folks showed up late and DG b/c of work...wait, let's pump the brakes for some internal monologuing. Daddy isn't mad, but sitting next the the newly unemployed guy and complaining about how assignments are coming in too fast and how you'll need an assistant to finish it or they quit...I mean, I'm right here.
We all part, and I head home for more tidying/business checking/and oddly enough, a nap. The local MPR radio station dj is asking for money in spite of the economy and tells listeners to "Hang in there. Things will get better". Okay. I arrive home to here of a very temp acting type gig helping law students during mock trial sessions next week. Score. Every little cent helps. Also, the unemployment paperwork is f#ck all hard to understand, so I make a note to go over it with Mo this weekend.
Moda arrives and I start creating fajita's. We both think about getting tanked on this awful upon awful of weeks, but end up slowing down and eating dark dark chocolate on the couch while watching netflixed films.
Let's see what a "normal" weekend means.
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