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petraToday, I need to water the garden.
Then, I should call all the people I've interviewed with and hear them tell me I don't have a job offer.
Then, I should shop for a suit for August that doesn't make me look fat.
Then, I should learn to bake bread from scratch, unpack all the boxes in the house, lose thirty pounds, stop reading comic books, and speak, read, and listen to only Spanish for the rest of the summer.
Yep. That's definitely what I should do.
ETA: 9:15 am: Garden watered. Voicemail left for everyone who hasn't called me back yet. Feeling accomplished. Still don't want to go shopping.
I need to write on my curriculum vitae-in-my-head that I actually have a much better phone voice than I remember myself as having. Working tech support for two years straight was really good for my ability to leave perky-sounding messages, even if what I had to say was not so happy.
ETA 2: A sure sign that I am not taking myself seriously is that I stick drabbles into previous entries.
There have always been reasons to be careful around Robin. He knows things, sees things, thinks things differently than Cass does. There is no bat on his chest.
But now he is broken -- not crumpled like a fallen bird, but bright-edged like a shattered mirror, sharp and dazzling with his fear of himself and what may come next.
He had serenity.
He had certainty.
Not now.
He cannot fly alone forever, but he will cut anyone who gathers him close before he heals.
Cass knows pain; pain teaches.
If she helps him, perhaps she will learn how to help Batman.
ETA 3: I suppose it is better to know that the answer is, "Thank you for playing," rather than wondering.
At least now I only feel defeated instead of defeated before I've begun.
I could really use some unreality right about now, but I haven't got the attention span for it.
Then, I should call all the people I've interviewed with and hear them tell me I don't have a job offer.
Then, I should shop for a suit for August that doesn't make me look fat.
Then, I should learn to bake bread from scratch, unpack all the boxes in the house, lose thirty pounds, stop reading comic books, and speak, read, and listen to only Spanish for the rest of the summer.
Yep. That's definitely what I should do.
ETA: 9:15 am: Garden watered. Voicemail left for everyone who hasn't called me back yet. Feeling accomplished. Still don't want to go shopping.
I need to write on my curriculum vitae-in-my-head that I actually have a much better phone voice than I remember myself as having. Working tech support for two years straight was really good for my ability to leave perky-sounding messages, even if what I had to say was not so happy.
ETA 2: A sure sign that I am not taking myself seriously is that I stick drabbles into previous entries.
There have always been reasons to be careful around Robin. He knows things, sees things, thinks things differently than Cass does. There is no bat on his chest.
But now he is broken -- not crumpled like a fallen bird, but bright-edged like a shattered mirror, sharp and dazzling with his fear of himself and what may come next.
He had serenity.
He had certainty.
Not now.
He cannot fly alone forever, but he will cut anyone who gathers him close before he heals.
Cass knows pain; pain teaches.
If she helps him, perhaps she will learn how to help Batman.
ETA 3: I suppose it is better to know that the answer is, "Thank you for playing," rather than wondering.
At least now I only feel defeated instead of defeated before I've begun.
I could really use some unreality right about now, but I haven't got the attention span for it.