Yesterday, I successfully brought my Pontiac GrandAm home. And it’s looking good. And it felt good for all of three hours. The first thing I did before driving Ooo Shinee home was take the Census placard down out of the rear window. Methinks that placard may have turned my car into a target three weeks ago. I’m sure the folks who made it were thinking of my safety, but you might as well mount flashing lights and a siren on that car for all the good that placard did me. It made me look like a damned Federal government rat.
Having the car with me enabled me to visit all the houses I had left in my clipboard in just three hours. And I conducted enough interviews to cut that number in half.
It looks very much like I’m going to get that two-week furlough that the Census Department will give me before the final push to verify vacant addresses. This morning, I had realized that all I brought home yesterday was an excuse to berate myself for not searching for a new job. Seems I never ever give myself time to celebrate my achievements.
Things seem to be going to plan. Just barely. Keeping a close eye on my checking account—and simulating in a spreadsheet what is really happening to it—has thus far avoided the overdrafts that I saw this time last month.
And I was barely able to squeak out enough money to keep my cable services going. At least I think so. I’ll know a little better after midnight tonight.