
The hunt continues. If I hear one more time that I'm grossly overqualified for a position, I'm going to scream. Golly - seems that I have exactly the experience and qualifications you're looking for, Mr. Employer - what gives? My age? Oh, I'm in my thirties - 30-16 to be exact.
That's enough griping, even for me.

It seems the pup will make it, as of the latest report, though it's not certain since Ibuprofen destroys the kidneys, in all mammals, if taken in sufficient quantities. She consumed 10 times the quantity sufficient to do her in. Had I been at work, I'd be coming home to a sobbing child and a canine in the beginning stages of rigor.
The next time I'm feeling like it's all too much, I may very well happily chew the child-proof (but not dog-proof) cap of some unlikely OTC substance and have at it. At the moment, I'm feeling an unsure relief, waiting for the other shoe to drop.


Downside? Seventy-hour weeks. Enough bullsh*t to cover 3000 acres of sub-prime farmland. Deception as strategy. No ethics whatsoever, just so that I can get the Ethics Manual done on time. No straight answers to arrow-straight questions. Upside? Money. Money is power. Oh, you thought knowledge was power? With money, I can buy knowledge and thus, benefit from the power attached, and I can go to Bombay or Beijing or Hanoi to get it, cheaply. I can say f*ck you and mean it. I can personal-train and face-lift my way to an impression of health and wellness that says to the world, "Not with me, buddy, and not today." So, if I have to be a Piggie, might as well be the Piggie-In-Chief. Sh*t, yeah.
Thank you for sponsoring what is either a tirade or a massively jubilant response to near-doggie demise. Your attention in this matter is appreciated.