Wish Us Luck

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.


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