Wednesday, April 09, 2008

"We think you should just go home . . ."


And I agreed with them, so I did.
We did not cover whether I would be getting paid anyway, or whether my insurance was canceled immediately, or whether they would stop calling me at all hours, but I'm hoping for the best on all counts.

I could call the local Human Resources person to find out for sure, but they fired her a couple of weeks ago. If anything turns up shady I'll just call my former boss. A lot. 

I spent today (and most of Tuesday) prepping the house to be sold and packing up stuff. Shana has a definite itemized list of the things which need to be done, while I mostly wander room to room, painting ceilings, fixing lights, taping up boxes and trying to stay the hell out of the way.

It looks like we are pretty close to sticking a giant check mark for "done" next to one of the rooms, though the others are taking tiny steps towards a glorious simultaneous finish. Or, just as likely, a large house fire and some curbside maniacal laughter.

Of course, the cats are as helpful with this as we have come to expect. For instance:

"I have altered your chair."


"Pray that I do not choose to alter it further."

I like to think that she is just guarding my dice bag, which you can see in all its bulging awesomeness right by her head.

That bag is riding to South Carolina with me.

So very frighteningly soon.

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