All the signs are pointing toward surrender and submission. It's time for me to stop planning, to quit plotting, to desist in dreaming of things not yet come to pass. Some days are like that. You can either beat your head against the immovable wall and take ibuprofen afterwards, or you can claim some wisdom upfront, and concede without the headache.
I haven't shied away from sharing my defeats with you so far, so I will tell you that the Good Hair Interview did not result in a job offer. I'm sure they're still talking about the hair though, so all is not wasted.
Jocularity aside, while I can't help but feel a little disappointed that I wasn't picked (overtones of junior high gym class) I remain hopeful that The Perfect Job is out there... or at least The Right Job For Right Now. In the meantime, I will take advantage of what I've got now: time to enjoy my scrumptious Peanutty nephews, and time to write for pleasure.
It is my habit to go to Adoration once a week, typically on Friday. I planned to go around lunchtime today, then come home to pick up the two smallest Nuts and take them to the library for new books. (We're junkies and need a steady supply) There was a funeral at the church, however, so I couldn't stay. Then, after a minor skirmish back at the house, I got the boys as far as the library parking lot before we discovered it was closed for an all-day staff meeting - something I knew about but had forgotten.
Plans disappointed three times in one day. What is the message behind that, I wonder?