Moonlighting (not like Bruce Willis or Cybill Shepherd, though)

My body feels totally exhausted.  That giant “editor knot” is back again, tucked neatly in behind my right shoulder blade, and my uterus is tied up in its monthly painful little muscular ball.  Yet here I sit in front of my laptop pounding out a little something.  I’m going through one of those “meh” blog phases, as in “I should write a post and read some posts, probably,” and then I say to myself, “Meh.”  You know how it is.

Yesterday was my first real shift back at the restaurant.  I made sixty five bucks, not too shabby for a first night back.  During the afternoon, though, I had to attend a little meeting with the director of my department at my full-time gig, a little one-on-one, get-to-know-you session, with my immediate manager present, presumably to act as a buffer.  I’m not sure exactly what the purpose of the meeting was, but during the session we came to the realization that the director of my department lives a mere five minute walk from my house.  I’ve admired his green picket fence, in fact.  During the meeting I mentioned that I’m also working another job because although I didn’t know this man lived around the corner from me, I did know he lives in the same town, and I thought that there was a good possibility I’d see him in the restaurant some night.  Before I try to sell him cheese on his garlic toast, I thought it would be a good idea to give him the heads up rather than experience the stress of wondering whether my company would be okay with me taking a second job while I took his order.  That, and he’s never seen me wearing a name tag before.

I’ve been doing a lot of work around our house lately, too.  I think we’ve done a good job of de-cluttering these last four years or so (that’s how long it’s taken us to truly merge two households into one) and we’re feeling more inspired to make some subtle improvements in the house now that our income is above the poverty level once again.  We’re thinking white trim, fresh paint, and a new tub insert in the teeny ensuite bathroom we have will brighten the place up.  I hope we can do most of it by Christmas.

The other thing that feels good is being able to pay the paperboy.  Paper “dude” is more appropriate, actually.  Our paper dude must hate coming to our house because we never seem to have cash in the house, and paper dudes typically do not provide debit-at-the-door service.  Tonight when the paper dude came to the door I was thrilled to have cash in hand to pay him.  See…it’s really an optional payment, but I know these guys work hard to do their paper route, because you get the paper delivered whether you want to pay for it or not.  I want to support young people who work.  Being a server means we’ll likely have cash on hand to pay the paper dude his measly six bucks every two weeks, and they can stop dreading knocking on our dirtbag, deadbeat door.

Alright, I’m off…I’m moving bedside tables from the small front spare room into the basement, where they’ll moonlight as end tables until we have a house that’s big enough to put them to their original use again.  It seems everytime Graham comes home from working a shift I’ve moved some furniture around.  I’ll need to provide him with an orientation session when he walks in the door.

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