Took all day to get ONE online application completed. It was a long application, and I turned it in without one piece of documentation——which I probably won't get by the deadline. Ah well. But I'm still hoping it wasn't a waste of time.
So I'm not making a permanent move right now. Where my folks are is just too economically depressed, and the only way I could make it work is if I were fantastically wealthy ... which I'm not. Too close to the edge. Right now I'm staying where I can be available onsite for work. I just don't think I'd be much use to my folks if I'm having to borrow money off of them because I can't find any work for what I do in their area. I wish I could move; Mom's in the hospital again because her blood's too thin. We don't know yet if she was bleeding internally for a while or what. *shakes head* And this time I can't even make it home.
I'm just thankful I have SOME kind of work right now. I feel like one of those ringwraiths in LOTR that are constantly sniffing out Frodo and the Ring——only it's more work I'm sniffing out. Not depressed, exactly. But I'm definitely feeling a little discouraged. I turned down a bunch of jobs because I thought I was moving. I'm still getting lots of leads, and I'm working, but I need something full-time. Ah well. At least right now I have time to work on my Great American Novel.
Not to mention, Orson has turned into something of a triple threat, if you get my meaning. Doesn't seem to remember what the litter box is for anymore. He's on two units of insulin, which has helped cut down on the frequency of his er, deeds. We're trying a bigger litter box because his arthritis makes it hard for him to aim (did you really want to read about this?). So far, it's ... not working, really. We're getting to our wit's end, but hey. At least we have some Anti-Icky Poo to clean it all up.