Another Monday.
Another week.
Another chance to do good, get something right.
The pressure of Monday and its promise of a shiny new week is making me wish for tired old Thursday where I can gaze lovingly back at Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and take stock of the week. More or less. WINNING? You betcha.
Today I go and play yet another round of Come on, lady, won't you even consider being a home health aide with the Department of Labor Dude.
He means well, but seriously? Take care of the needs of others and be paid precious little for the pleasure?
Now you're just describing my homelife,sucka.
I'll whip out my long list of jobs applied for.
The Excel spreadsheet of shame, a life's work itself these days. A map of failures to make a great first impression.
And he'll nod and remember that oh, yeah! this is that woman who does that thing for a living he doesn't quite understand.
But her old title sounds important. Does it involve the mafia?
Well, you're doing everything you can by the looks of it.
I won't tell him about how I'm looking for work in the sex industry.
He'll smile. I'll smile. It's all we can do.
Given the constraints of the workplace and human decency.You know.
And I'll go home again, enthused not so much, but at least safe in the knowledge that I'm not alone.
The Department of Labor office is rocking.
Especially on a Monday.
