WEEK EIGHT

The other night I heard the word “disaster” comes from the Greek and means “bad star.” No, I wouldn’t say this week has been a disaster, just a confluence of weird things – President’s day, Dad’s and Aunt Margie’s birthdays, the great digital changeover. At least Lent is not for the next couple days.

I would not attribute the last couple days’ happenings to “bad stars,” just maybe weird ones. Didn’t go to the Press Club buffet Thursday night because I had a client and was too tired afterwards. Friday morning planned to go to lunch with the Fulbrighters, then got the opportunity to earn 200 extra dollars. Friday afternoon forgot (and wasn’t reminded) that I was supposed to work from three to seven PM. By the time the phone rang just before three if I had had a blunt object I would have hit someone with it.

Mom and I agreed it was better to be earning money than socializing, but are the guys who do the hiring, firing and promoting at the parties? Do they even notice who’s back at the station running the board? Cinderella didn’t get to marry the prince who made her life a heck of a lot better by sitting home during the ball – she was actually AT the ball. Of course she had the fairy mother to suit her up with a nice outfit and a car and I guess sit the cat and the mice while she was at the ball. Maybe that’s what I need – a fairy godmother…