I just interviewed a guy who was so negative it was like talking to Eeyore. Worse, it was like talking to a semi-retarded Eeyore. I know I am awful for thinking that about a real, live human being, but Jesus. I had to feed him answers because otherwise I might as well have phoned myself.
Tomorrow I’ve got three interviews lined up in very short succession. I did two today – very spread out – and it seemed to add some nice structure/diversion to my day. Tomorrow we’re also getting our brand new patio door. Goodbye mold, gross windows, etc. A new door is Step One in Our Grand Plan. Our Grand Plan is: new door, ceiling fixed (upstairs had a leak!), lounge and hall repainted, whole place recarpeted. In a nice, neutral colour – just in time for two babies to come and shit on it everywhere. Awesome!
In other news, my pee-pee is all messed up today. I left all these messages for people to call me back to set up interviews, and when the phone rings I have to get to it quick as the machine picks up after two rings. (Can’t leave it off the hook because it has a shit charge. Buying a phone is part of a plan, just not Our Grand Plan.) Anyway, the phone rang and I fucking lunged off the couch. It was like a move some flying acrobat would do….except it ended with me collapsing on the floor, screaming OH FUCK, before calmly picking up the phone and scheduling an interview.
I broke my pee-pee, dudes. Seriously. And my hips. I guess I will have to rule out pole dancing/belly dancing/etc as an extra money maker whilst I’m still pregnant.
existere (latin): to stand out, to emerge. 
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