I have a real job interview for a «real job» on Monday. It hasn't quite hit me yet. Perhaps because I've lapsed into this nothing routine and didn't even realize it was Friday. In the absence of Routine with its concrete markers of real responsibility and endings, the past few months have stretched out and blurred into a big, dead sprawl. Sure there's been punctuations of false leads, a couple of live shows, being asked out a couple of times by dudes, a wedding. Beyond that, not much other than staying up til dawn and drifting through afternoons. I don't care how much it sucks, and maybe it won't but given the nature of the work it probably will, but that's irrelevant as I need a change of scene.

Fingers crossed and keeping in mind all the things my Sicilian grandmother said were lucky: the number 13, no gold jewelry, bird shit on your windshield. Sicilians are weird like that, co-opting things that most other people consider undesirable or even the opposite of good luck and instead attributing positive valuation to them. She also said that hairy arms weren't unattractive but a sign of strength.