That Old Adage Is a Crock

"No News Is Good News" my ass. Know what No News means? It means NO NEWS. It means we know nothing. It means I have oodles and oodles of time to allow my brain to fill with thoughts of Why?! Why haven't they called? What are they DOING over there? They said we would hear this week, which means I was expecting a call first thing Monday morning. Because I know that if I were wanting to offer a job to someone as perfect as my husband, I would want to call AS SOON AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. It is now Wednesday. Clearly they have given the job to someone else and we will wind up jobless and homeless, living in a tent. Perhaps they found out about his inability to sweep. Maybe they caught a glimpse of the inside of his car. I know that would scare me off. This job is now dead to me. Thinking that will allow me to go on.

People, welcome to my brain. Enjoy the preview into the workings of an anxious, glass-half-empty, neurotic, fear-based 40 year old. A little sneak peek into my constant conversations with God, in which I ask, beg, plead, cajole, bargain, reason, and pretty much drive myself crazy with my inability to understand why we have been living our own mini version of the recession for the last two years and why it will never ever ever end and I will be forced to spend the rest of my life as a basket case because I wasn't suppose to spend this much time with my husband until he retired. And the day he retires I plan to get him a lifetime supply of golf lessons. WHICH I CAN'T AFFORD TO DO WITHOUT A PAYCHECK. So you see my dilemma.

To recap, Mike has applied for 489084989890284938787598043 jobs. He adds to that list daily. He has "networked" and "connected" and "Linked In" and "Facebooked" with every person he has ever met in his life. Think I'm kidding? This is a guy who connects with people he knows from elementary school on Facebook. And communicates with them regularly. There is not a person in his life that does not know that Mike is looking for a job. Any job. A way to spend 40 hours each week making money. So we can not only continue living in this cracker jack box we call home, but we can replace our dead garage door, our broken front window, and replace our disintegrated gate to keep out the deer that continue to eat my roses and tomato plants. I would shoot them but I can't afford a gun.

And then here comes a fabulous job. Really. This job is fantastic. This isn't just a way to kill 40 hours each week. This is not only a job for which is well qualified, but it is a job he would like. A lot. And he actually gets an interview. And it goes well. He is pleased with how he did. He thinks he has a shot. And I actually start to dream of the day I can purchase my own bb gun and pick off those rat bastard deer that suddenly think my back yard is an all-you-can-eat buffet. And then, because my brain has the special ability to always look for the absolute worst case scenario, that is where I have taken up permanent residence. I am a lot of fun to be around right now.

I know that in the whole scheme of things and the entire spectrum of problems I could be facing, this is manageable. A lost job can some how, some day be remedied. My next door neighbor just learned that he has Parkinson's. My 46-year-old-father-of-2-neighbor has Parkinson's. They are waiting to get in to a specialist, and while they wait he is getting to experience a whole myriad of symptoms that involve the inability to use half of his appendages. To put it mildly, they are freaking out. As well they should. So I do recognize that things in my life could actually be a whole lot worse. But people, I am done. DONE.

There. A picture of something I knit. Now, back to me. Today I will spend the entire day staring anxiously at my husband, who has this illness that causes him to remain calm in the face of danger and adversity, I will probably clean something, I may knit a baby hat, I will once again curse Dish Network for continuing to withhold ABC from their paying customers (well, mostly) on Lost night FOR NO GOOD REASON, and then I will go to bed in pretty much the same frame of mind in which I awoke this morning. And this is why wine was invented.