... and I said "Sergeant, I am hurting. I'm considering deserting."
It started out as one of those days. Gone from home all weekend, stayed up late reading a book when I did get home. Took me until noon today to sort-of-mostly-kinda finish the morning routine, and I think the only noticeably useful things I've accomplished since were to mail out a resume and start on the eleven billion piles of laundry (which are still running as I type). It's been hot today, and I've been restless, and depressed about the job situation and the length of my to-do list, and so on.
(Friday, I came back from a visit to Erik's new place with four boxes of Ambar's Old Stuff that had been sitting in the garage at Mercy St. I've already been through two of them. No surprise, there is hardly anything in there I want (aside from the handful of letters from my two faithful correspondents when we were all in high school), but there are clothes which should be washed before being donated.)
I was outside feeding Palisades when the phone rang. It was an HR person from Google.