I like working on Sundays. Seriously, I really do. I'd trade Sunday for Wednesday anytime. My volume-impaired coworker is never here because she's on salary and it wouldn't make sense for her to come in and, y'know, catch up or anything.

Lately I've been suffering from a can't-get-there-from-here sensation regarding moving to NYC. Every time my truck comes to life I think about, and reject, driving until I am somewhere else. Believe me, if I entertained even the smallest illusion that my ass were a saleable commodity, it'd be drawing bids on Ebay by now.

When I interviewed for the NYC Teaching Fellows program my sample lesson crashed and burned but I nailed the actual interview part- where this leaves my chances I'm not sure. I'd much rather find work as a paralegal, frankly- it's harder and I'm probably less qualified, but it pays vastly better and it's easier work to get, doubtless.

Every once in awhile you'll hear about companies hiring people from afar and being so enthusiastic about those people's qualifications that they'll pay for the first month's housing and give them dental and a 401K immediately and fall all over themselves to get people to move. I fully recognize that my hodgepodge of professional skills does not lend itself to such overtures, but I really wish that just once it'd happen for me anyway.

There are no atheists in foxholes, as they say, and I am almost- almost- to the point of prayer.