Ambar (ambar) wrote,
Ambar
ambar

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warning: contains whining

Mmm, typing with fingers of ice. It was 64F in here around 10:30 or so. I gave in and put on a sweatshirt -- soon, it will become a habit. Still, it's far nicer than waiting until the last endurable moment to put the AC on. Fall and winter are my favorite seasons in Northern California.

I need to clean the cattery today, and pack/prep to be away from home for eight days in a row. Ugh! I'm about ready to hide under the bed and not come out until Thanksgiving. I have been away from home too much for my liking the past month. It's gotten to the point where waking up in my own bed feels like a major achievement.

Note: say "yes" less often.

Job hunting: it doesn't seem to matter whether I approach companies directly or use job-hunting sites; I am getting zero response from the electronic approach. Nyet. None whatsoever. I may have to resort to actual paper to see if that works any better, but I am just *so* goddamn dubious. This is no fun.

kirbyk and others are pondering the school-full-time approach. For me to do that, I'd have to... give up all my animals. No financial aid package I have *ever* seen would account for my mortgage, 3-5 horses, 10 cats and a dog. Not, I think, going to happen. At least not by choice.

Still, I have to look at what happens if the ugliness continues and I have to default on the mortgage. (Oh, *shit*.) I think... I think Sable, Dora, Wendy and I move into the truck. I beg Karen (Julian's biggest fan) to take on Julian, leave Petit Point and Capucine where they are (or if I can scrape the pennies together, throw Capucine on the Cravers' mercy -- that requires moving her from MA to IL, but is the better plan).

The other cats... pair them off and inflict them on former cat-fancy friends who can try to find them homes. It's the best I can do. (Man, who's going to take Arnold? No one loves Arnold but me; he's such a little asshole. Even Debbie, who loves every cat ever born, doesn't like Arnold. He's a really demonstrative, affectionate little asshole. Turkish Angoras are such an acquired taste....) The inanimate objects can go to hell or Goodwill or storage or something; by that point I can assure you I won't care.

Well, there's the mood-killer for the morning. I think I'll go have a litterbox encounter session, which actually seems attractive now.
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