I Cut Myself

FYI:
Applying for jobs on the internet is one of the worst processes imaginable (I had originally just said “sucks,” but then thought better of my public-use language). There is zero initial personal contact and no way to follow-up since it is rare that a company will post any kind of contact information. How is a potential employee to make any kind of impression on a company if there is no contact? I have to just hope that people are interested enough in my name to look at the rest of my resume. Speaking of my name, which I have always always adored and never would part with, I am terrified that people will just skip over my application, thinking me to be an old lady. And then, after not receiving any reply on any of the fifty positions you’ve sent your resume to, you start to question whether all those things about your experience and abilities you’ve nicely arranged together into a document are really as great as you originally thought. And what is up with employers not realizing what an accountant is worth? So many of the positions say they expect you to do everything a controller would do, along with having a degree and required years of experience, and also perform the duties of the receptionist and office manager on top of that. And……they only want to give you $11-$13 for it, based on your experience of course. Seriously?? I can understand that many of these companies are smaller, and might require their controller to be a Jack-of-all-trades (something I’m pretty good at), but at least be willing to give worthy compensation.
Alas, the internet is my only option at this point, since I still have to show up every day at the cruddy 8-5 job I’m trying to get out of.

That was a ton of switching of my tenses. Forgive, as I would not forgive you. Cop it up to the mush my brain is becoming from working in the general area of our new receptionist and her terrible music. Oh, the songs I now have memorized that I never would have cared to listen to in the first place! I want to shout out for five minutes of peace from the same songs we’ve been listening to for two weeks, every day, multiple times a day, every minute of the day. The hour between eight and nine, before she shows up, is now sacred to me. It brings me to repent of ever considering listening to local radio stations again.

On Sunday I made some white chili and it was delicious, of course. In the process, I cracked my crock pot down the middle trying to use it as a dutch oven. As a result, today I am borrowing a pot from a friend for a pot roast. I especially like these friends, and their squeezable little boy. They are great examples to me of using what you have and making do, even though you might have money at the time to spend on a nice TV or a bigger house or a Le Creuset dutch oven in every color and size.



Oh how my cooking would be so much more lovely, and I’ll even warrant tasty, with the use of one of these. Other things my kitchen yearns for? A kitchenaid. A gas stove-top. A(n organized) spice cabinet full of spices. KNIVES. Do you know what it’s like to work with nice knives? I have once upon a time. Oh glory. Imagine the chopping and dicing and slicing and splicing and everything else you can do with a good knife. Now also imagine the blood and the cuts and the bandages and scabs.
Yeah…Mike sometimes grounds me from knives, or says I have to ask him first if I can use one. I don’t even know how it happens, but all of the sudden my skin will be split and Mike will be shaking his head at me again. On average, I will come away from work with 1 – 2 paper/cardboard/manila folder/staple/anythingmyhandsmightpass cuts a day. I’m not so sure getting shiny, sharp, cuts-through-quarters knives is an option Mike would consider.

So, I’ll just make do with what we’ve got. And what we’ve got isn’t too bad. My hand mixer is able to handle most things I make. Our second-hand monster of a TV (though Mike may protest) works great for our needs. A bookshelf for a pantry is actually kinda cool (at least it throws off company). Our noisy, crappy cars will last us. My leaking Camelbak works great if I don’t fill it all the way. Our clothes from eight seasons ago still fit. A tiny, old house can suit us just fine. And we’re just as happy as if we had otherwise.