Waiting waiting waiting

The people I interveiwed with said I'd hear about the job at the university this week. Sweartogod, this week has already lasted eight days, at least. I'm no good at waiting for stuff like this. I get cranky. My gramma said to never wish any part of your life away, but I'd seriously consider jumping straight past the next few days to the moment when I learn if I'm employed again or not.

Plus, Gary Fletcher promised the winners of the April Pattern Challenge would be announced this week. Not nearly as big a plum as the job, but it would be sweet to be a winner at something.

On Sunday Moose Maiden came over and we dug out her unfinished new Renaissance Festival garb and got it fitted to her again. I had to take up a couple of inches because of all the weight she's lost, so it's just as well I didn't have the energy to finish it last summer. All that's left to do now is the handwork at the shoulders and setting the grommets. Ugh, I'd rather eat a roach than set two dozen grommets. Maybe I can teach MM how to do it and turn it over to her. Naw, she doesn't sew nearly as well as she cooks and if I'm going to be looking at that bodice for seven straight weekends it has to be perfect or it'll be a constant irritant.

While we were sewing up the bodice Himself got out a calendar and figured out that there were 91 days to the beginning of Fest. Bleh. Oh, to be well enough off to be able to retire from Fest! To enjoy September and October weekends lounging somewhere cool and clean. To not have to spend the time on my feet sweating like a field hand, choking on dust, or picking bees out of my water mug. When I was 22 the Renaissance Festival was a magical, romantic fantasy land full of friends and adventure. Now at 48 it's just simply Hell with nice costumes. The only thing I hate more than Fest is being left out of Fest. Yes, I know, that's a contradiction. I'm just complicated like that.