The Jobless Goddess

   I’m starting to notice a pattern. If you buy one thing, anything, out of a catalog you start to get them in your mailbox until they are coming out of your ears.   Nowadays I keep getting the clothing ads for plus size women. Now that’s a blow to your ego if ever I saw one.   And what I hate most is that they are selling pants for women sizes 18 to 28 and the girls in the photos look like they’ve never eaten an Oreo in their lives.   Am I supposed to believe those sea breeze blue drawstring pants are going to look like that on me?   Please.    If the great big cropped pants with the giant flowered long T-shirt isn’t enough to lure me in, today’s new catalog arrival actually included queen size sheets and mattress toppers “great for plus-sized people.” Now, what the hell does that mean?    Don’t get me wrong. I’ve all but given in to wearing elastic waist pants 24/7. I remember the days when they were only for sleeping. Sigh. I...

   I don’t know how to tell you this.    I have a job. It’s a part-time job and I’m not sure it will continue after the summer, but I’m counting it anyway.   I know.   It’s the story of my life. You could almost cheer for me but it’s just a little too uncertain to celebrate.   It does mean I shower early every day and put on clothes that match somewhat and it requires a car ride and a door key to the place. That sounds like a real job doesn’t it?    On top of the blurriness of my employment, I am also doing something I’ve never really done much of before. I am copy editing. Oh, I’ve been an editor. I can decide which story stays and which story goes, and what to put on page 3 but I’ve never worried about using a semicolon so much in my life. Or a capital letter or the space bar. It’s quite something. I’ve already lost several hours sleep over letting Roxberry slip through when it should have been Roxbury.    I have to adm...