Two weeks, no word from Menards. Jerks. I tried not to, but I had hope when I applied. Always a mistake. When will I learn. Much like waiting for something you really want to happen or someone you really want to see. And... nothing. Yet something always makes you try again.
Had another dream about my book. I was the main character (kinda). This time, again it was near then end, where people were going to die. This time, somehow the survivors were chosen, and those who were not given a letter (as in written or typed, not an actual piece of the alphabet), didn't survive. It was weird. But, I lived! Which is actually a surprise to me. I would have assumed that, given my general state of mind, it would have been the opposite.
In about a week and a half, there will be at least 10 people in my tiny apartment, for someone's 1st birthday. This'll be fun, sure. I keep telling myself this. Then looking around at the amount of space I don't have, and the plenty of places to sit that I also don't have. And the boxed stuff that has no other place to go.
He's trying to pull himself up from his knees (holding onto my laptop) at the moment. I'm sitting on the couch. Still a feat to overcome. He's getting there, just slowly. I think his latest was going from crawling to sitting. Oh, and he was fussing on the kitchen floor behind me as I was doing dishes the other day. Suddenly he kinda quiets down, then I hear him laugh. I turn around to see that he has pulled his diaper off and it holding it up in the air. Punk.
And another attempt from the knees -- never mind. Crash.
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