One unhatched chicken

I just got back from a job interview. I think it went well, but I'm not sure I'm any good at gauging these things.

I set out looking very smart. (Smartly dressed, that is. I'm afraid some days my eyes glaze over and I don't look very clever at all.) Wearing my new coat (I'd conscientiously set it aside yesterday, keeping it hermetically sealed after having removed all cat hair from it) and my new boots (When I bought them last weekend they were the best of thousands I'd tried on, but I bemoaned the fact they did not come close to matching the boots that needed replacing on comfort. I bought them anyway. Today, they are surprisingly comfortable.) and sporting my new handbag (Large enough to hold a diaper, snacks, and whatever novel I'm reading, without screaming "diaper bag" or looking obscenely pouchy. Today I carried magazines instead of diapers.), I looked like I don't need a job at all, but if I were to have one it would be a very hip and cool editorial gig.

I'm more nervous now, wondering if I said anything stupid, than I was going in. I do want this job — it's different from and more creative than any job I've held before, and this employer scores very high on the hip'n'cool quotient, though they warned me it doesn't pay very well. (I never ask on a first interview — I think it's crass.)

And that's all I'm going to say about that. Coincidentally, this morning I learned about dooce and being dooced, and having been mildly dooced in a family context, I would hate to jeopardize a cool job over a silly little blog. Maybe a not-so-cool job.

(Heather's love letter to her 10-month-old daughter is worth reading. It's funny cuz it's true.)

I took some time off work yesterday and today. Against my better judgement, but I'm feeling pretty good about it at the moment. I'm at an impasse with the book I'm copyediting. It's formula-heavy and very boring. No matter how long I sat at this desk staring at this computer, I couldn't navigate my way through it. So I stepped away. I cleaned up the apartment. I had a bubblebath. I napped. I'm in a much better headspace now — relieved, too, with that interview out of the way — and ready to get to work (in just a minute).

I have a bad habit. I have many, actually, but one of them is to shop for things without buying anything. This does have some advantages, particularly as far as cost savings go. I tend to take mental note of what it is I'd like to acquire, and consider it carefully, mull it over in the comfort of my home, visualizing the potential acquisition within the context of my furnishings or wardrobe. Often, this exercise in itself satisfies the initial impulse, and the desire for the object vanishes. However, there are times I go back for an item, and the item is gone.

There's a book I'd spotted a couple months ago in the bargain stacks at Chapters (There. I said it. I called it by name even though I vowed never to do so, only ever referring to it obliquely as "the big-box bookstore."). When I went back for it, it was gone. Of course, I could pull the trade paperback off the shelf and pay full price for it (in which case, I'd march over to the nearest independent bookseller. I swear.), but that spoils the thrill of the bargain hunt. Stubbornly, I've checked other outlets, but I came up empty. But the online database for weeks has been telling me there's one copy left. And for weeks, I've been going back and poring over the stacks. The database could be wrong, but I keep checking, just in case.

Today, as if by magic, there it was. Maybe it's a sign. I'll go back for it tomorrow.

(Don't be silly. This time, I bought it on the spot.)