Maybe it was my response to Barb on the John Lennon death anniversary.
Hm. Grumble. Feh. Oh well.
It's getting very close to one year ... and I'm doing exactly as I expected.
There's a huge storm hitting us ... rain is sheeting off the building, working its way around the vinyl siding on the building, running into the sills, leaking inside the windows. Since it's happening even with the window closed and sealed, I think I need to let the management know about it.
I spent a good four hours Monday morning (until 5am) talking about grieving and religion with bigangry ... I was struck by the difference in the way I think nowadays as opposed to before. I think I've learned more about when to listen and when to say something, and what that something needs to be. It's an improvement, anyway.
The last few weeks, once or twice a week, I've been dreaming of Penny, which means, having a regular dream, noticing that she's in the dream, getting closer to her, and then the frustration of realizing that it's a dream wakes me up hard, and then I get the second whammy of not getting to remember what we were doing or saying or talking about or anything else about the dream, and there's the concurrent insoluble twist of irritation with myself for not just relaxing and going with it.
Monday, I updated my resume' on Dice. Since then, I've gotten three solid hits from recruiters, one trying to place a contractor at amazon.com, one with three possible positions at Intel, one from a guy I've worked with at a couple companies, and then of course a few non-hits. So, I'm tentatively positive.
Vinaigrette the Cat has been getting her meds more frequently, and has been acting much more energetic and outgoing and playful, which is a bit of a pain, sometimes. Still. Taking her to the vet tomorrow, I think, to get her blood tests done, to see if she can be plonked into the treatment center.
Clint is still a brat and just knocked over a garbage can.