Wednesday, December 17, 2003
I found a way to have my state contract and beat it too. I have a subcontractor to fill in on my contract at the State of Illinois. Now I am a dirty-rotten-capitalist making money off the labor of others.
Meanwhile I am a contract worker at a large insurance company in Bloomington. The insurance company will remain nameless because they have too many lawyers for me to risk their displeasure. I bet the actuarial department knows how many lawyers can dance on the head of a pin. Lawyers are easier to come by than angels.
My husband is working for the same insurance company. He has been there for several years. He has been commuting 65 miles one-way each morning and evening. We will be moving soon. So he will get a part of his life back. Meanwhile, until the move is behind us, knitting is not in the picture.
Christmas is coming soon and my annual ordeal approaches: the in-laws and the outlaws. This year throw in packing boxes. Serve with garnish.
For years we have had my husband's family for Christmas because we have the house big enough to hold them all. Then last year I had my Dad also. It was the first Christmas since my Mom died so I couldn't leave Dad out.
The problem is that my Dad cusses without a thought and my in-laws are just a wee bit this side of being Mennonites. Among my in-laws, no one is allowed to have a television; the women must wear skirts or dresses and never cut their hair or wear makeup; and no one wears anything except long sleeve clothes year-round. My father is mostly deaf so conversations with him get a little loud. I could just picture my Dad dropping a few loud choice words into a conversation with a group of people who wouldn't say s*** if they had a mouth full of it. Christmas at my house could have turned into a reality TV show. So I compartmentalized. My Dad was there for noon and the in-laws for the evening. And I wore blue jeans just to keep my identity straight.