Of Poetry and Phone Interviews

I found myself composing and singing a little poem recently, ad lib. Not poetry like Shakespeare; more like Winnie the Pooh. It went like this:

My hands hurt, my hands hurt,
They really really do.
My hands hurt, my hands hurt,
I'm sad to say it's true.

I am, comically enough, a published poet. But not that one!

*****
After lots of not much happening in the job search, there has been a little activity this week, or two fronts.

First, I was contacted Tuesday evening through LinkedIn about a position with the same title as my last job. No further info on the opening. We arranged for a phone interview for Friday at 3:30. (Hey, I'll talk to anyone about a job. Why not?)

Next, I had a call from a woman at an agency about a contract position, 3-6 months, which is not ideal but gets the foot in the door and you never know. Pays more than unemployment, anyway! She found me through Monster, and we were on the phone for half an hour confirming my information and experience. I've now been submitted for that position, so I just wait and hope to hear from the company.

Back to the first one, I waited through the days to Friday (the Bruins-induced depression was at least a distraction!), until she called at 3:25 to apologize, she was running late, could she call me in about 20 minutes? Of course I said yes, at her convenience, and was actually thinking she was considerate. Until the phone didn't ring by 3:45.
Or 4:00.
Or 4:15.
Or 4:30.
Or 4:45.
Or 5:00.
At that point I sent an e-mail asking if she still planned to call today, or should we reschedule. A few minutes later, the phone finally rang, she apologized profusely, and we talked. Nothing she said ruled it out for me, and nothing I said ruled me out, apparently, as I have another phone interview set up for next week, with the hiring manager. We'll see.

*****
So the first round of the playoffs is done, and at this point I start saying, Go. Rangers. Sigh.

I have no enthusiasm for them. I'm just rooting against Washington, in the time-honored tradition. I don't actually care who wins any of the other series, either. Maybe by the conference finals, I'll feel some heat again. But this post-Cup year is an odd thing.

*****
Can't end on that note! How about a close-up of kitty toes?

Lots and lots of toes!