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I had a lovely walk just a bit ago. It�s warm enough for a sweatshirt and tights, but even in the calm, my favorite stocking hat was still necessary.
Brie must�ve heard my feet on the gravel. She joined me about a quarter of the mile south of the house. It�s a bit alarming on a dark night like this (walking after sunset, but before moonrise--and remember we don�t have pole lights, in order to keep things as dark as possible for astronomy observations) to hear a distinctly four-legged creature barreling toward me in the darkness, but the faint metallic sound of her vaccination tag clinking against her collar is a good sign that I�m not actually going to be attacked by a coydog. I do appreciate her company on nights like this, when I�ve heard the coyotes, even though she�s a big baby, but tonight she wasn�t even good company. The road was fairly busy, maybe 4 cars went past in an hour of walking, and she was having such a jolly time that she�d never come when I called. She knows she�s supposed to come and sit when cars are coming. Sigh. It was just so pleasant out that I felt like I could�ve walked forever, had she not been misbehaving. But clouds were sneaking in, just starting to obscure the Pleiades, and that seemed sufficient justification for ending the walk.
I stopped across the road at the barn to pet Gimpy and Blindy. The poor sweet things. Both came running when I turned on the lights and started purring long before I touched them. I can�t quite figure poor Gimpy out. I inspected the paw, ran my fingers up and down the leg, and he never seemed uncomfortable in the least and continued to purr. I do worry about them. The aforementioned coyotes have always done a fine job of picking off the perfectly healthy cats out there. Hopefully these little guys have the sense to stay close.
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I�m trying to decide on my next move. I�ve had unbidden offers from several friends wanting me for a roommate, one just blocks from work. I�ll have to figure out if any of the drunken offers were serious, but if so, I think I might. Something must be done.
Jeff knows why (see The Kate�s entry for today).
Which reminds me, I was looking through the Reader ads for apartments and roommates this morning. You know, to see what I�m missing, because that�s a good time. Anyway, there was an ad from a fellow who works at WBEZ, who was looking for a roommate. He had many rules about who it couldn�t be, and I mostly agreed, until the part about no �young professionals.� How the hell else can we describe ourselves? Aren�t we burdened with vague degrees in the liberal arts? Aren�t we analyzing our jobs, hoping for better treatment and better pay, wishing for a career paths in something we�re interested, wishing for inspiration to tell us what to do with our lives? We are working white-collar jobs. I�m working in a non-profit workplace, too, but how does that mean I�m not a young professional? I can�t imagine how he intended that distinction. Yes, no �Lincoln Park trixies� makes sense.
I don�t want to be a young professional, but it pays the bills.
If only it paid the bills without my assistance.