rickvs

My new boss looked at his books, and came up with a firm number for my hourly wage. When I start for him in January, it'll be about an eight percent raise from my last job :>

Also, I think I'll be able to fill up a lot of my downtime over the next couple of weeks: I spoke to another former employer of mine, and he's got several large projects I can help him on, all of which are due by the end of the year.

I should get fired/laid off more often. Perhaps I'll start taking random swings at my co-workers.

So, I got laid off this afternoon.

"Financial reasons", I was assured -- they couldn't afford for me to work there unless I took a fifty percent pay cut, and maybe not then. They intend to dump my chores, and the chores of the other artist they let go today, onto the trembling shoulders of their salaried production manager ...who already has plenty on his plate. I expect his head to explode any day now.

I'm embracing the concept that this layoff is good news, perhaps better news than getting fired outright from my previous job turned out to be. My recent employers are on a path I'm pretty sure will prove drastically, double-plus unprofitable for them, and I hope to arrange a better work schedule for myself, preferably with lots of tasks I can complete from home.

In the meanwhile we have enough financial safety nets available that I'm not concerned about eviction nor starvation, and after that what is there to worry about? I look forward to the extra cuddle time my new schedule will afford me, and if any of you lot know anyone who needs some artwork done, I'd love to hear about it.

I told my ex-managers on my way out that I felt sorrier for them than for myself. I'm confident that I'll find a job, and pretty quickly at that ...while on the flip side, I honestly have no concept of how they hope to succeed on the road ahead of them.

I'm thankful that my mother's heart attack caused as little damage as it apparently did.

(That doesn't mean I'm not somewhat peeved at her for waiting through several days of symptoms before seeing a doctor).

Like this:
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Last time the doctor looked at Rachal's leg, he said the rod he'd placed in the thicker shin bone (tibia) was staying put nicely, and that she could start doing some limited walking (even forgoing the boot indoors, but using the walker as needed). I didn't realize until that appointment that he'd left the broken pieces of the thinner calf bone (fibula) afloat in her leg, to knit on their own -- and perhaps occasionally to snap apart and re-knit, which is what I think happened a couple of weeks ago. The doctor said it was nothing to worry about; that the metal rod in the thicker bone would keep her leg from folding under her, and he didn't want to attach plates to the thinner bone unless he had to.

So she should be moving back upstairs with me sometime in the near future. I've nearly got the living room rearranged the way I want it, for her ease of movement. But I'm not quite there yet.

In other news, my twentieth high school reunion was last Friday. I didn't go, but didn't realize until recently that I was on their M.I.A. list. So a few of my old schoolmates may be sticking their heads in (*waves*). I should probably start posting nostalgic memories of my teenage years, but it'll have to wait for another post.

Neither of us are quite certain how she managed it, but Rachal has broken her leg. While answering the front door.
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Rachal went off this weekend with Pat to Hot Springs, Arkansas, where they are getting massaged and generally relaxing. I've stayed in town, where I've been catching up on "The Shield" and "Heroes" ...and melting into a puddle of goo myself. Also played frisbee golf, then saw _Grindhouse_ yesterday ...which was better than I'd expected. I was especially impressed by Zoe Bell's stunts.

Today, however, I'll be heading in to work for a bit this morning, then making myself available as a taxi service for our former-houseguest-with-OCD. While he appears to be making progress in his journey to reintegrate himself into society, he is perhaps not improving enough to keep himself out of an asylum. I've explained to him that while we wish him well, and I am willing (within my schedule) to drive him from place to place or do some internet research for him ...he may not stay with us any more. The last time he was certain he'd only be with us for a few days, we had the pleasure of his company for most of five months.

He's a nice guy, but not only would his condition drain more fiscal and emotional resources from us than we can spare ...I think it'd do so while changing his behavior very little, if at all. I'm pretty sure that before he makes any permanent improvements, he needs to hit bottom, rather than just flirting with it as he's been doing for a few years now.

Anyway, I wish him luck, and look forward to seeing Rachal when she returns this evening.

The rain didn't start getting nasty until after I got home yesterday, and we never did quite lose power -- the lights only blipped once. I expected Paris, our outdoor cat, to scramble in as soon as the storm really kicked in, but he kept not appearing. So I went out looking for him, hoping that he was holed up somewhere, rather than getting washed away by the torrents, some of which were higher than the parking lot's curb.

By the time I returned to the apartment (sans cat), I was as wet as if I'd lain fully clothed into a bathtub.

All my soggy garments got draped onto some flat surface or another, and I wrapped myself into my fugly woobie bathrobe, the one made from cloth as thick as my finger. When the rain finally slacked off, Paris came yowling to the door, wet enough himself to be wrung out.

In other news, my former manager showed up at my office to pick up some subcontract work, which finally gave me the opportunity to sincerely thank him for firing me last year :>

As I'm trying to be more selective these days about what radio contests I chase after, I had to pause a moment to consider the following:

One of our local stations is offering a laser hair-removal package; the winner will be picked from entrants who submit photos of their hairy backs.

Those of you out there who have seen me shirtless may judge for yourselves whether I would merely win such a contest -- or come in first, second, and third.

After talking it over with Rachal, I decided that my lycanthropic look doesn't bother either of us particularly, so I'll leave the winning to some other flammable sod out there ...one who's presumably got a lot more self-esteem tied up in his appearance than I seem to. On top of which, I think I might feel actively weird changing my look that radically and suddenly, which is the same reason I'm not interested in removing the scars on my forehead. I've become accustomed to them, and would miss them if they were gone.

[Fear not, dorsal pelt! I won't leave you -- ]

I brought Rachal home Thursday evening, and boy was she happy to arrive.

She's still sharp-witted, and we have several followup appointments next week with various doctors.

Thanks for everyone's support :>

Quick update before I head out.

The folks at Baylor didn't like some of the readings they were getting from Rachal's heart -- specifically, the intermittent pauses in beat that sometimes stretched as long as five seconds. So they're putting in a pacemaker tomorrow morning. Her folks are in town -- and I won't say Rachal's looking *forward* to having a pacemaker, but she very much likes the idea that this might put a stop to some of the random passing-out spells that plagued her last year.

It's apparently a short-recovery procedure, and they may release her in a few days.

More as it develops. She seems to be doing okay with this, and I think so am I.