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I'll bet you thought I was gonna stop writing after I got my first temp job, eh? Well, sorta. But not forever. It turns out I've been writing almost all this time and haven't ... erm... figured out how to properly post from anything but my own computer at home. As I hang my head in shame, I'll put up the now greviously out of date thoughts I have been denying you.
oy

So this bit is from March 13th:

THE NEW JOB
Every morning now I play a game:Oh crap what am I going to wear today?
It's a fun game that involves looking at the same 2 skirts and 3 pairs of pants, alongside the same 300 inexplicably ill-fitting tops (only about 2 of which can be worn as clearly "business casual" and possibly 3 others which qualify as vaguely passable business casual.) I look at the entire spread, see, and then it's tetris time. Does this go with that? What about that? How do I make that a-b combination that I've already worn three times in a row look exactly different from yesterday? And why is my hair doing that? And will anyone notice that I'm wearing squeaky shoes with holes in them that are 8 years old?Mostly it's a psychosis-based game that re-justifies massive quantities of "poor me"-ing and involves getting wrapped back up in the same mindframe of "everyone else seems to have more ___". That mindframe haunted me for the first 18 years of my life. My vast, vast, 30 year life. (note to self, roll your eyes at this part in 15 years)

Whoa, 32 years this summer. I'll be da... I'd have sworn that I would have had my crap together by now. You know, back when I was 18 and nothing went right, like, ever *sob* - I'd have sworn left right and center that by 32 I'd be totally together and so big fat withit that all the other withits would suddenly realize how withoutit they've been all along... and then they'd get theirs. Uppances would come... See? Fun game, right?

Well, then I get to work and it's time for another game:Don't let 'em know I'm a fraud
Same rules really, just instead of hating what I'm wearing, I am trying to conceal the fact that I've been faking it all this time which CLEARLY nobody else in the world has ever had to do. I acknowledge that EVERYONE feels like they're faking it - eventually - and roughly by the end of the day when I've gotten loads of stuff done and consumed far too much tea to be even remotely good for my fragile stomach lining, by the end of the day I feel pretty good. I feel even a little competent. I feel empowered kinda, and I feel strangely appropriately dressed in a mismatched sort of way. Then I get home, leave a cookie-crumb trail of mismatched work clothes on the floor behind me and pretend to resist the urge to curl up at the foot of my bed and take a nap with the blissed-out kitty. I pretend to resist. I do not resist. A half hour later I wake up refreshed and clear for what feels like the first time all day, and then try to get myself together in the "TaDaa" nick of time before the main squeeze gets home and asks what's for dinner. I do so, and I remain calmly un-stabby when he finally does ask me what is for dinner. Honestly that's probably due more to the fact that he doesn't ask so much anymore. Guess why!

SO, in an effort to remain on a positive upswing today, I now promise myself a trip to Ross, TJ Maxx, and whatever other place I can think of where I can hunt for uber-low-priced business cazjwear and I'll try very hard to not follow up with an "I hate everything" entry about how nothing fits, like eh-ver. Just gotta make it through this week. OH! and I'll have to find some time to run up to the mountains this weekend to work on the window some more. OH! and there's a bridal show this weekend that I need to get to. 7 months and counting. Ye gods.

('nother note to self: resist the urge, while trying on countless articles of clothing in the various dressing rooms, to feel like Tarzan wearing his first pair of trousers )