Hope on a rope

I have been so bad with my blogging lately. Not because I lead a boring life (at least not between Friday night and Monday morning) but because D and I have been mondo busy. He and I usually take our lunch break at the same time but all last week he was stuck in trials and depositions and other lawyer-ey "itions" that make no sense to me, so I found myself mindlessly perusing Nordstroms, Bloomies, et. al. every single day, trying to fill my lunch break outside of the office. (Cue me aimlessly riding the escalator in Macy's up then down, up then down, admiring the Christmas decorations hanging overhead in my path.) 

My purchases began to spiral out of control. Cookie cutters (for a girl who likes to bake but never actually does), calendars, lingerie, suede peep-toe pumps, numerous articles of clothing. Each time I was rung up and asked by the cashier whether my purchase was a gift or not, I said, with pride, "No, no...this is for me. Always more fun buying gifts for yourself." Not that I NEED any of this, my closet is practically bulging at the seams with clothes I never wear anymore, and I've got three trash bags and counting of clothing in the coat closet that  I'm planning to donate to Goodwill. But something about spending money -- especially these days -- makes me so happy. It's like lapping like a kitten at a well-made Tanqueray martini and feeling that first saucy buzz after a crappy workday. So bad, I know. I shouldn't be leaning on retail therapy as a way to deal with my malaise and inability to cope with reality, but I do and it feels sooo good. I suppose it could be worse. At least I'm not addicted to meth and my teeth are falling out of my head because of my penchant for aspirin and battery acid or whatever it is meth is made up of. I just simply like shoes. And it's not like I can't afford my shopping excursions...I use my debit card for everything, no credit. But I guess a part of me feels a little bad since I know everything I buy is frivolous and unnecessary. 

D still hasn't heard from the firm he interviewed with last Tuesday. This doesn't mean he's out of the running but at the same time doesn't bode well for our nerves. If it's a "no" we'll get a letter in the mail; if it's a "yes" he'll get a phone call. Talk about pressure. Every single evening we are terrified checking the mail, just like two kids covering their faces during a gruesome scene in a horror film. We stiffen, and everything slips into slow-motion as the key makes its final click in the lock, the mailbox door swings open, aaaaaand...there is a Crate and Barrel catalogue (for me) and a school loan bill (for D). We can breathe easy at this sight for just a second, until we're back to worrying about how we're going to pay D's $2,000-per-month school loans back. At this point we might have to defer till he finds something significant; though I make much more than I need, it's not enough to pay what would otherwise be a mortgage payment.

This law firm D is waiting on is like a last vestige of hope at scoring a gig that would start him at a significant pay rate ($145,000, plus bonuses). Any other smaller firm would pay well, but not as much as this firm, which makes landing this job even more important. But this job market has prepared me to expect the worst, so I've inwardly started downplaying the likelihood D got it. Not that I don't believe in him, but because I don't want to dwell on it and be all sad if we do see that letter in our mailbox this week. There will be other opportunities and he'll get to where he wants to be....I just want it to happen soon! I've been a bad girl at work and have been shirking some of my duties that will have ramifications in January, February and March since I'm hoping more than anything that I'll be gone by early January if he gets this job. I'm such a fool since this act alone has probably jinxed this job prospect for him, but I can't help it. That hope on the horizon is so tempting...