Hey, happy weekends! You may remember that I decided to use the word “weekends” where everyone else says “weekend.” So when someone says to me, “Have a good weekend!” I reply, “I hope you have great weekends, too!” My reasoning was that, according to my calendar, the week starts on Sunday and ends on Saturday. Thus, those two days hold up the rest of the weekdays like bookends. Without them, Monday would tilt over and knock down the rest of the days like a trail of dominos. 
Then I found out that not everyone in the world uses a calendar that starts with Sunday. It turns out some places start their week with Monday. 

Luckily, I’m an American living in America so I can just ignore this and pretend the rest of the world does it just like I do. Isn’t that wonderful?
Moving forward, it’s the weekends. Usually I spend my weekends wondering just what the Hell I should be doing other than sitting here in the apartment. Now that I’m unemployed I can spend my time sitting around wishing I could afford to do something that I probably wouldn’t feel like doing even if I did have a job. This way I can feel sorry for myself instead of getting angry with myself. Isn’t that wonderful?
I should probably read. Or do some book learnin’. Perhaps I can make some tea and sit out on the balcony where I have a lovely view of the building next door. 
I saw the doctor yesterday. The hole in my face is healing nicely. I no longer have to stuff that thin gauze in it anymore, which is a big relief to me. It’s one thing to put something in a hole that’s supposed to be in your head, like a spaghetti noodle into your mouth, but it’s entirely different when you’re pushing in something that looks like a flatworm into a gaping wound. There’s a reason why I never became a doctor and it has a lot to do with just this kind of activity. 
The doctor I see is very nice, though. He went out of his way to find a small bandage yesterday because, he said, he feels the best kind of bandage is one that isn’t noticable. I said, “But then you don’t get the sympathy!” He didn’t look at me like I was crazy and I feel that’s a good thing. 
Everyone there, though, has been nice to me so I can’t complain. They’ve all been understanding of my situation and they don’t mind bantering back and forth, which is a huge deal to me. If you don’t have some kind of sense of humor then I get worried.

Yesterday was a surprisingly busy day. I had two phone interviews for the same place and, I think, they went fairly well. The business is one I find interesting so I have high hopes. I love working in new industries and learning about them and this is definitely something new and up-and-coming.
In addition to that I recieved a couple of other calls from different places. A lot of people have difficulty understanding what it is that I was doing at my last job, and I don’t blame them. It sort of fits in between two different jobs without being completely one or the other. 
Lately I’ve been annoyed with getting emails from insurance companies. The emails always start out saying something about how my work experience matches exactly what they’re looking for and then goes on about how much money I could make selling insurance. It’s not only annoying but it also makes the insurance comany look bad in my eyes. I know these are spam robo-mails but, still, if you can honestly look at my resume and think that I’d be a good insurance salesman then it makes you, and your company, look pretty stupid. If I need insurance in the future guess what company I wouldn’t ever go with. If that wasnt bad enough, I recieved a call the other day from someone who was looking at my resume and was asking me questions about my last position. She asked what kind of duties I had so I went full technical on her explaining about the virtual computers and VMware and the certification process. When I was done she said, “Um. Okay.” and then invited me to a seminar with a few other select individuals to discuss… selling insurance. 
Look, I’m trying to find a  job. In my field. Doing something I know how to do. These companies are actively wasting my time; time that could be spent doing something productive. You know what? If I wanted to sell insurance, I’d be selling insurance already. It’s bad enough to get robotic spam, but it’s far, far worse to actually talk to a person who is looking at my resume and can plainly see that nothing on there, in any way, shape, or form, has anything to do with selling insurance. Or selling anything, for that matter. It’s very frustrating.
I shouldn’t complain, though. At least I’m talking to someone. That’s a huge step up from some days where the only conversation I get is trying to convince my parrot that I am not, in fact, a chicken.