I only work so that I may paint

So I failed to get out side the last two days, unless sitting on a patio having drinks count. Wait, I say that does count! The 26th was my wedding anniversary. We did what any American couple normally does, went out for drinks and dinner.

Friday found me groggy and grumpy from the previous night's drinks and rich food. I got to work on time, barely. Opening up my email I discovered 64 emails from job seekers. I had put an ad for a really part time receptionist up on craigslist and blam, they blew up my inbox. So glad I don't have that account linked to my phone. Weeding through resumes kept me at my desk hours longer than normal. When I left work I just wanted to go home and fondle an ice bag, which is what I did.

The sad thing, ok, several sad things about the resumes: there are a lot of recent college grads looking for jobs, apparently so desperately they would consider a 20 hour a week position at a vet hospital; only 10 percent of applicants bothered to read the whole ad and tailor their cover sheet/resume to appeal; at least 25 percent were professionals with great credentials and job history, but definitely not what we are looking for, such as the criminal justice/forensics guy (um, really, you want to be a receptionist now??). I felt like the hungry frantic masses were clawing at my door, waiting for crumbs. And then what? I am going to throw some moldy bread out the slot at the top of the battlements?

Zombies. That's what I thought of: the hungry undead.

"Yes, yes!! We love pets! Here kitty kitty, hey, where's the soy sauce? Pass the ketchup, too!"

Today, I will paint. I have already been out side to garden. House work done.

Drying

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