I have a new dayjob.
It just sorta fell into my lap. I saw the ad and recognized that it would be perfect for me, and saved the page of the paper, but after I carried it into the office, I forgot about it for a couple of days. Until late the night before we were leaving town. So in the morning, after I finished packing, I took a few minutes and threw together something resembling a resume, slapped it in an e-mail and left town.
That afternoon, I got a call from the lady, and by the time I hung up, I was pretty sure I’d been hired, although nobody ever quite said so in those exact words. However, when I talked to her again on Friday (again on the phone), we made arrangements for me to take the required drug test (I have caught a cold, and between that and my regular meds, there’s no telling how that will turn out) and to come in for training.
What will I be doing that makes this job so perfect? Basically, I will be a glorified typist. With clean-up duties. It’s a part-time position at the local newspaper with the grandiose title of Editorial Assistant. (Newspapers are good at handing out grandiose titles. When I worked years ago as the only staff on a weekly paper (except for the guy who did sports), I was called “Managing Editor.” But I still had to develop all the pictures I took myself–plus write all the copy and cutlines and whatever else needed writing.) I will type into the computer all the Community Bulletin Board items people turn in, so they can be laid out on the page. And whatever else needs doing.
I pretty much get to set my hours, which means I’ll still be able to write in the mornings, and I won’t have to stand on my feet twenty hours a week. For a gramma–er, Gigi with bad knees, that’s a plus. Now maybe I can support my conference habit. 
In other news, I have caught a cold and did not go to any Mardi Gras activities this weekend.
I am halfway through my RITA books. Four more to go–unless they send me a second panel of books, which they have done in years past. (I do volunteer for them.) I also need to judge this other contest I volunteered to help with.
And I need to send some pages to critique to my cps. We haven’t critiqued any in the last few years, and I’ve missed it.
This means I need to get back into the writing. But I have to go cough up a lung or two first. (Hack, hack, wheeze)
That’s exactly the kind of job I’d like to get.