It's "One of Those Days" Today.

I am notoriously bad about transitions.

Hey, is that a hippo over there?

The first days back after a vacation are teh suck for me, and this is no exception. (We had a lovely time, by the way, and a post with pictures is coming soon. Just to review: we drove to VA, dropped Eva with Mr. Milkweed's parents, were in California for a wedding for three full days, flew back, were in VA for another day and a half, and drove home yesterday. Oh, and Mr. Milkweed fit two job interviews into the whole thing.)

Just a few days ago, we were dining al fresco within view of City Lights Books and discussing, among other things, the American Communist party and the versatility of kiwi. Today, I'm in full-on hausfrau mode, unpacking and catching up with laundry and administering Baby Motrin for teething and generally trying to convince Eva that when I round the corner for a glass of water, I'm not hightailing it for the border with a fistful of cash.

I'm also beset by the nauseous realization that I need to lose ten pounds by, oh, yesterday, and that even if he doesn't get the job, we may have to move locally anyway (another sordid tale for another sordid time), and on top of it all, today is not a day for feeling zen about Mr. M's job search.

Already word has come from on high that he did not get the high school job for which he interviewed last Thursday. Right now, I'm dissecting the response to his "thank you" e-mail to the powers that be at the other job to be a certain indication he's going to be let down easy: "I thoroughly enjoyed our discussion, Dr. Milkweed. The competition for these positions is extraordinary, but you are an exceptional candidate, and if it does not work out this time keep in mind that we expect a certain amount of turnover in the future. Thanks for your interest and we will be in touch soon."

Is it just me, or does anyone else hear bells ringing? A sort of death knell, perhaps? I can joke around about it all I want, but I had really gotten my heart set on this last little job. As much as I tried not to think about it, the near perfectness of the whole situation crawled inside and set up camp and started a "Home Sweet Home" counted cross-stitch for me to hang on the wall. Maybe that's just a form response, that e-mail, but it makes me feel a little sick inside.

I wish we could just ball up today and tomorrow and the rest of everything having to do with waiting for ANYTHING and pitch it so far into the future that my grandkids' grandkids excavate it on Mars.

I'm happy to report, however, that I woke up early and went to the gym and have been busily setting things to rights here and cooked a healthy lunch of rice, beans, and broccoli and have generally been mopeless and useful and whine-free. If there were such a thing as Obsessor's Anonymous, I'd be working the hell out of the program.

I just wish I could be in the same room with possibility and not break into delirium tremens.

I'm off to ride that hippo now.