Thanks to one and all for putting up with this, and for the purrs of
encouragement. I managed to kick Louie's tuchus upstairs to send out his
resume to some local headhunters, and told him he had another kick coming if
he bitched about time. His job has a "flex" schedule. With enough advanced
warning, he can make up a flimsy lie about going to the doctor or getting
the oil changed and get himself to an interview. And he's giving serious
consideration to retraining as an industrial engineer, which he'd be gifted
at. Of course this means that I must put my hopes of education in the junk
drawer of my mind now, but better he should get the training. He already has
2 degrees, math and biomedical engineering. A few more classes will kick him
a few notches higher in the happy world of monster.com.

And my fantasy education? A double major in English (for the writer in me)
and theology (because religion is loads of fun for me, and the local Sikhs
are looking for someone to succeed my father-in-law in matters ecumenical.)

I'm sorry you all had to see me in a certain depressed and self-deprecating
light. I don't like to show that side of myself to the world, which is why I
freak at work. I'm heavily bipolar, and even with the meds I can only gain a
certain level of control over the mood swings; I can't eradicate them. God
forbid a customer should hear my voice cracking or aounding tearful; helluva
image for a financial services company. This is why I call Louie on my
break, and he gave his work hell over that today! They had a
sit-and-air-your-grievances meeting today, and he told all and sundry that,
since people get on the phones to pay their bills and call their kids, he'd
best not hear anything said about his wife again, that of all people a
spouse should be allowed to call, no questions asked.

So at lease one frazzled catslave has a speck of light at the end of his
tunnel, and we thank you mightily!

Blessed be,
Baha