Will Work For Money

I now have four job offers and two more interviews.

Two of the jobs are travel jobs, and include paid housing and utilities.

Four of the jobs are local, and include the stipulation, "Paid housing? We pay you a crappy wage, don't we?!"

I have an interview tomorrow for stepdown, and an interview for CCU (that's "fresh heart attacks" for those of you who are blessed enough to be unaware of hospital speak) on Wednesday.

I'm. freaking. out.

Hopefully I'll get one more interview (the one in Sarasota, which I rilly rilly want, except now it's nights and not days, and that freaks me out too.)

Why must everything freak me out? Why can't I be cool, like Mr. T was in the 80s, and Ice T is now.

(Maybe, in retrospect, it's lame pop culture references like above that are the clue to my freaking out about everything.)

What I need now is an eight ball, or some other divining device. I'm done with rationally thinking out a plan for my life... look where it's gotten me, for God's sake. Maybe I just need to pick a job out slips of paper in a hat. And some of the jobs wouldn't even be jobs I've been offered, or that even exist, like "Cow mime" or "Air seamstress."

Nope. Still freaked out.