The Ice Queen Cometh

Taking a break from resume writing and submission, I feel compelled to vent. Looking for work after sliding off the radar for the last seven years blows chunks big time. Never one to see the benefit of being a Jane of All Trades, I narrowly tailored my contractual stuff during my "hiatus" to the exclusion of all that is mainstream. And all this specializing has made this process of hunt and peck job search quite painful. What? Oh yes, I mean it has indeed blown chunks.

And hey, there's just nothing that resonates with the awkwardness of this process more so then the chills, and fever, and feeling like crap. Because as everyone knows, feeling like an Ice Queen both physically and mentally translates so completely to perspective employers. I not only shiver all day like my home is in the sub-arctic region of the world, but my temperament and conversational tone mirrors this in kind. That's what happens when the Ice Queen cometh. Pure bitch. Compounding this is the fact that I did not run yesterday because I was on a 24 hour lock down from being so sick. Tonight, however, I will force myself to take one for the Gipper - he owes me money anyway.

The stress of all this must finally be taking its toll because I am noticing that my hair is suddenly breaking off and coming out in my hand by the fistfuls. Or maybe I just need a haircut. Not that I am in any danger of going bald, after three pregnancies and hormonal rages beyond compare, I have more hair now then a sheep dog. But it certainly gives me pause when I cook for the kids. I worry that I'll accidentally dump pot-fulls of hair around the kitchen when I cook. So I've taken to wrapping my head up like a swami for fear that without the protective barrier my kids will need to develop a panache for hairball removal remedies. Hey, it's how my brain works. Okay, vent over. Go home. Be gone with you.