Just to Clarify:

I think if I were going to get the job, I'd have heard by now. I made two phone calls and sent an email. No response. I got one person on the phone, and she said that they were still interviewing candidates, and they should have their answer sometime this week, and that HR should be calling me. Yes. I'm sure they will.

This morning, I was informed (gently) by G's landlord that as of tomorrow I no longer have a place to park my car. I'll get ticketed on the street, and I can't locate a rentable spot. This is a private area. I've worked out a handshake deal to discreetly stash my vehicle in the sparsely-filled lot behind the business office a block away, but this is not a permanent solution.

My teeth still hurt, and my dentist says the next step is a root canal. This may not be necessary. I have to monitor my pain for about a month until I can tell exactly which teeth are hurting. This is actually a long, complicated thing involving sub-clinical inflammation versus clinical inflammation. I do understand it, and it simply means that, after eight cavities and two which were very deep, it's going to be a number of weeks before the underlying nerves settle down. In the meantime, it's Anbesol and soft foods.

I suffered a mild case of stomach flu over the holidays. My entire vacation was spent with cough drops, sleepless nights, and stomach distress. I managed some very low-energy socializing with friends, but I didn't get to bake any Christmas cookies. The first year I can ever remember since I was in grade school that I haven't made cookies. There are other things I didn't get to do, private, family things that nobody would value except me.

Oh - I did manage to clean out my late grandmother's clothing from the closets for donation to the local women's shelter. How's that for a happy holiday tradition.

New Year's Eve was, to say the least, disappointing. The B&B our friends picked out was nice, but, as Slam indicated, "You don't come here for the food." Sadly, for me, food is life. We ate fried food, bad cheap chinese, and McDonalds. I had packed a nice dress, hoping we'd at least go for a nice dinner somewhere. What a dumbass I was. There were fireplaces everywhere. They were pretty, but the wood was moldy, and I was choking and gagging. Not allergy friendly. Never mind recovering from the flu friendly. My friends loved the place, and I spent the whole time there being a good sport. I went through cough drops like they were candy.

G gave me the impression that my insistence on living in a major city was the reason he wasn't proposing. Well, I guess that's a step up from "I don't know if I can handle your depression." I told him I could handle leaving New York if he preferred Boston, but even that wasn't good enough - G wants a suburban life. He says he doesn't like too many people around. I then proceeded to sell my soul to keep my man. I won't go into detail there, but let's just say I have been sick over it ever since. I'm waiting until the right moment to have a very difficult, painful conversation. I have no idea what the outcome will be. All I can do is pray that our love for each other is as true as I belive it to be - that we value each other enough to compromise. No - I hope he values me that much.

I learned last night that another one of my many ex-boyfriends is engaged to an attorney. They haven't been dating very long, but this guy has been the king of the lonely hearts club for a long time. There were many reasons he and I broke up, but the final nail in that coffin was our inability to see eye-to-eye on the financial necessities of child-rearing in a major city. I imagine marrying an attorney will eliminate these problems. I should be happy for him. Mostly, I'm feeling sorry for myself. This particular ex was someone who I felt would have been perfect for me, if I hadn't been still married when we met. Oh, that, and that he lived in what I termed "financial la-la-land." We were ridiculously close, and spent a lot of time after we broke up trying to accept that we really weren't going to get back together. We stayed friends and stayed in touch, and something between us was always there... but that's life. He's moved on and got what he wants from someone who is happy with him just the way he is. She loves him for who he is.

For who he is.

I expect too much from life in general. I expect that a great job interview - actually, a bunch of interviews - might at some point lead to a job. Any job. Lord, am I nuts! I expect that some company, somewhere, might need someone with my talent and skills and experience. Oh, I'm a riot! And I actually expect that a man who tells me he loves me and talks marriage to me for over two years, and promises that he won't string me along for years like that OTHER guy did, will shit or get off the pot. I'm a laugh riot here. Hey, remember that time when I thought that because people said I had a nice singing voice, that I thought I might get cast in something? Yeah, that was a good one too.

I thought that if I worked hard enough, kept my positive energy going, and tried to be a good person, and approached life with a smart, can-do attitude, that I'd make it in the world. I never wanted to be overly wealthy, or to see the whole world, or to wear Manolo Blahniks. I want to have a home in a safe neighborhood with my grandpa's piano, and my cat. I'd like a healthy relationship and to be able to feed and clothe a child. Before I die, I'd like to see Ireland, but my Grandmother died before she ever saw her family's homeland, so I guess if I don't make it, that's ok.

I expect too much. Hope, not Fear. Man, that was a good line.

Now I have to go to class. I just wish that, at the end of class, I could lie down on a massage table, go to sleep dreaming of a life where I get paid for my work, and my talents are valued, with a man who loves me for who I am, not who he wishes I was... and never wake up.

But don't worry. The cleaning staff will kick me out on my ass, and I'll be stashing my car in a borrowed space by midnight.