Hubby has a phone interview tomorrow. One of about 47 steps toward potentially maybe possibly getting a job. The interview is supposed to last two hours. I don’t know what anyone could have to grill him about for two hours. But that’s the plan.
And what do I need luck for? Tomorrow I have to call a crazy person to try (for about the millionth time) to set up home visits for her son. She doesn’t have a reliable phone. I don’t even know where they live. And she keeps calling me, leaving bitchy messages about how I never return her calls when reality is quite the opposite. Her son was discharged from the program (because she never returned a damn phone call), and now I have to make nice, probably apologize for the miscommunication, even though I tried way harder than necessary to get a hold of her, and ignore it when she inevitably blames me for the fuck-up. As you can probably tell, I’m so looking forward to it.
Maybe it’ll snow tonight and I won’t have to go in.
Maybe the world will end a few days ahead of schedule. That would make my day tomorrow a whole lot easier.
Maybe I’ll contract the black death and I can call in sick.
Yeah. That would be nice.