Woke up this morning, (not with a wine glass in my hand), day 8 post layoff/midst-freedom/poverty and one day short of April ... and it was snowing out. I would post the link to the little video I took to prove this, but it won't attach for some reason, and also, I held the Iphone the wrong way, it came out sideways, so you'd have to tilt your head or computer.
What does this have to do with stinky teeth ? Nothing. After filming, I went fishing into my toiletry bag for a hairbrush, and there next to it was my electric toothbrush, the plug still all bound by an elastic ... and it occurred to me that I have not brushed my teeth in 3 days.
I'm not usually this much of an unspeakable slob, in fact, I'm normally rather extremely anal when it comes to things dental, to the tune of full daily run throughs with my favorite fat, fat floss, so this goes to show the level of depraved decadence a gal can get up to in a single week.
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At present I'm in the tiny country hamlet of Rexford, NY, at my bro's fabtastically retro ranch (located on freaking 2.28 acres - aka SIX full times the size of my entire lot in Maine, which is huge,) hanging out with these two characters:
Aka 4 year old Ms Samantha and 14 year old elder stateslady Daisy Belle, neither of whom are averse to dressing up.
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Daisy makes it known nonverbally when she's hungry, or at least, extremely covetous of the food you're eating. She finds no need to bark or nip at you - why be undignified at her age? - instead she fixes you with a most intense, unwavering glare, which you could have handled to a degree, were it not for the fact that she also then places herself not only directly into your line of vision (the way a seagull does when you eat McDonald's in your car), but also directly ie physically in your path, ie as I unthinkingly ate some tasty goulosh standing up in the kitchen while Renee did a quick errand with Sam, and Frank was at work, which meant it was just Daisy and me, the little elderly white fluffball steadily moved herself closer and closer, never breaking eye contact, until we were literally toe to toe. Picture looking straight down at your own feet to find a small dog staring back with big pleading eyes ...
Yes, so I then of course fed her and gave her a good long petting.
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Conversations with Sam, part 1: 'Aim high'.
Me, after watching her carefully arranging various colorful materials over a clothes-making template wooden doll thing: So, do you want to be a fashion designer when you grow up?
Sam, very, very matter of fact: No. I want to be a butterfly fairy princess.
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Conversations with Sam, Part II:
In the back seat of the car on our way back from the Chinese Cultural Center, Sam and I played I Spy, however because it was dark out by the time we left, we opted for the guessing game game, ie 'what number between 1 and 10 am I thinking of?' 'what animal am I thinking of?' At one point, she asked for a hint, so when it was my turn, I asked her for one.
Sam: It's a wild animal
Me: Like in the jungle?
Sam: Ya.
Me: Monkey?
Sam: No.
Me: Tiger?
Sam: No.
Me: Lion?
Sam: No.
Me: Polar bear?
Sam: No.
Me: Ya gotta give me a hint, Sam. What letter does it begin with?
Sam: Y.
Which, when I couldn't think of a single animal, wild or otherwise, that began with the freaking letter Y, Sam advised:
No, wait - it begins with a G! Not a Y, a G!
Me: Um, okay ... a goose ?
Sam: No!
Sam: No!
Me: I give up!
Sam: A giraffe !!
Which sent the girl into fits and fits of giggles, after which, mum called for a new game, something called 'the silent car ride', which Sam immediately took to, however it became clear that she still wanted to communicate something to me, because she began mouthing something in my direction, not realizing I am absolutely, utterly hopeless at reading lips and always have been. Other than Derek Smalls mouthing 'we love you' in Spinal Tap, don't even try.
My ineptitude at this skill Sam apparently possesses caused her to mouthe the words slower and more insistently, and then as I continued to stare, shrugging apologetically, she continued, with increasing enthusiasm/exacerbation, to the point of augmenting the message she was trying to send with swooping hand gestures, until:
Me: I can't read lips, Sam!
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So okay, on the where-am-I-at as I type this thing end: overall, I guess it hasn't hit me that I'm unemployed and floating, probably because my bills are paid for the time being, and since I'm away, it all feels like a vacation, but admittedly it is a bit shocking when it hits. The afternoon I packed up my desk for example, and the whole thing - computer, monitor, printer, keyboard, phone, all my case files - swiftly taken away by the postman, and the desk I'd inhabited full time for two and a half years was now entirely empty except for a few stray paperclips - wow, that definitely felt was a bit of a shock. Doesn't seem to matter that you knew it was coming from a long while back, in fact - I think I've known I'm being canned for maybe 15 months now - it was still a bit on the jarring side. Oh well. All part of the ride, I guess.
Of course I can't know at this point if this taking time off business will prove perhaps a grave mistake when it comes time to slogging it out job hunting, but I do know that it's always a slog - no matter if I have 'connections' or experience or what - looking for work has always, always sucked, period. So I guess I flippantly figure, what difference will a few months off make? And on the other end, I will at least have had this amazing kickarse opportunity/adventure to visit folks and spend all that time in those two cities I love. On my deathbed, will I fret that I didn't jump right into the job hunt? Okay, if I lose my house, ya, maybe, but I'm thinking I would wait tables at Denny's long before I let that fucking happen - especially after all the work and cash I've put into upgrading the place!!!
Time'll tell, obviously. I'm gonna try not to worry about it in the meantime. Life be so, so short.
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