Victory Soap v. 2.0

Well, to make a long story short, I didn't get the job. It went to someone who spoke Spanish, which, believe it or not, I can't really do (except for "restaurant Spanish"), even after a lifetime in Miami. I can't speak any other foreign language either, despite my lifelong philological fantasies -- I took five years of German, four of French, and two of Italian, along with all the obligatory Spanish, and I can't speak any of those languages. Something happens to my brain when I try to speak out loud in any other language but my own, and my speech center just shuts down. I can conjugate verbs (on paper) like a motherfucker though.

But that doesn't change the fact that as of July 10th I'll no longer be employed at my place of employ. There are a number of bright sides to this: I'll get a nice chunk of severance pay, I won't have to work at what I have started to call the Madhouse, and, um, well there.

So maybe it wasn't such a good idea to move to a new apartment -- on the other hand, I'm not going to be immediately unemployed. And the location of the new apartment is loads better for job searching; the bus is on the corner instead of being two blocks and a four-lane highway away (and I can stand on a sidewalk instead of a ditch to wait for it) and it goes straight downtown, passing through the business districts of Maitland and Winter Park along the way. But I hope that by the time July rolls around I'll already have something lined up. Well, as the song says, "the future's uncertain and the end is always near."