I crawled into a hole with Haruki Murakami at about 3:30 this afternoon. I did not emerge until I had read 100 pages of Kafka on the Shore, napped a bit, and gave myself 2.5 orgasms (sometimes they are hard to count).
After I spent many minutes wishing for a robot maid to bring me some sort of sustenance, I got out of bed and checked my e-mail and Google Reader. Lo and behold there was not one, not two, but three jobs that I might be qualified for. Three potential jobs that were not there this morning. And even if I am not perfectly qualified for all of them, I am going to apply. Just the fact that they are there reassures me.
Tomorrow I am going to write a self-piteous post about how I never, ever win the lottery, have private concerts with Elvis Costello, or get to have sex with Al Gore, and frankly how much it terrifies me that those things don’t happen more often. Keep your fingers crossed for me.