There was so much on my mind that next week or so that I never really thought about those keys. That's the bad thing about problems that really aren't. Those small little but wait a minute issues that one can shove impatiently to the side when more imperative worries loom. What concern were misplaced keys compared to the desperate need to find a job? I had a second set of keys. Months back I had been dumb or frazzled enough to leave my set of keys out and my autistic son had made off with them, probably fascinated by the little water wheel toy my ex mother in law had given me when I casually admitted I didn't have a key chain and just usually kept my keys loose in a pocket. I'd had to get a new set from my apartment's caretaker. A month or two later, newly unemployed but not yet desperate, spring cleaning, admittedly a few months early, had seemed like a nifty idea, and I found my original keys half way under the radiator in my bedroom. I went back to carrying them, and tossed the second set, contained merely by a boring little ring, on the top of the fridge.
It wasn't a place even my often times fiendishly clever autistic baby could reach. Add to that the fact that he didn't see where I had put them. So they had remained there, safely, gathering dust ever since.
And I never thought about the obvious. I never asked myself, well how the hell did you get into the apartment without the keys? I guess my mind just said, you ditz, you must have dropped them some where stupid once you were in. Except I don't do that. When my boys are here they almost always go straight back into my purse or the pocket of whatever jacket I wear day to day. When the boys aren't here, I come in the door, walk those few feet down the short entry hallway, kick my shoes off and toss the keys on the table.
But still I didn't think anything of it, just grumbled a little and berated myself for being such a dumb ass. I made a mental note to do another "spring" cleaning soon and find the blasted things, and put the issue out of mind.
Maybe I just knew.
But even if I did? I don't like waves. To ask my caretaker to change both the entry door lock and my apartment door lock? That would be a world of hell no. To have to explain to him why? Even with a PG rating? That was not something I could bring myself to do. So my subconscious mind snarled at me to shut the fuck up and insisted I had just misplaced them. It was an easy story to buy. I am always desperately searching for phone numbers, stamps and I.D. or bank cards that I'd have sworn were last in yesterday's jeans.
I didn't see him that week. I would have told him to go to hell if I had. I might have felt some kind of...something. It was his money that had made it possible for me to get to both the first, and the follow up interview. I just wasn't allowing myself to think about much. There seemed to be a very good chance I was going to get this job. So "misplaced" keys never even entered my mind that week.
I was just waiting for that call, having been told that it was a company policy that the VP interviewed everyone who applied for a job at that smallish publishing company.
So I had been going to bed early. I didn't want to get a call while I was still asleep, asking if I could be there in an hour. I wanted this job!
But it was Friday night. I'd had a call earlier telling me that the VP wasn't back, that I would maybe have that all important interview Monday, or Tuesday for sure.
The person I interviewed with the second go really liked me. He had told me "confidentially" that I had made 96% on the little test that was part of the application process, and that the second highest score was only a 82%. Kind of startled me that, was just basic math. And memorizing a short string of numbers. Guess my strong retentive memory helped there.
So I celebrated a bit that Friday night.
And yeah, just pretend I have a life. For me a wild time is staying up until 2, 3 am on the computer. That night I really splurged. I pulled out the bottle of vodka I have hidden , shoved way under the bed so the kids won't find it by accident. I don't have any sort of drinking problem. Nor I do I think alcohol is some sort of evil. I just read this little news blurb once on some study that suggested that every time a kid saw an ad on TV or in a magazine featuring alcohol, the chances of their starting to drink while still underage went up. I had no idea if that included seeing mom's single bottle of booze up in a cupboard while searching for the cookies, and it was easy enough to sling the bottle back under the bed each time. Hard to find the damn thing sometimes. Usually entailed my hanging precariously off the edge of the bed, ass up in the air while I flailed about inelegantly until finally connecting with the prize.
So I guess I had a really wild night that Friday. It was halfway to 4am before I shut my lap top off and aimed myself towards bed. Well, technically I was already in bed. I use my computer usually on the bed. A bit funny that since my small apartment holds a total of three desks. None of which I ever seem to sit at. I'm not a very official kind of person.
I like to sprawl out, to sling myself down, to get comfy.
I rarely if ever sit in chairs either, come to think of it. Not even the rocking chair I love so much that my daddy bought for me when I was carrying his first grandson. If I'm watching a movie or playing video games with the boys, I'm usually right there next to them on the floor.
I think it's the simple rigid, stiffness of chairs that bother me so much. The human body was meant to be fluid. I would be a nightmare to some Emily Post of manners. I like to slump and be comfortable.
I trained in ballet for ten years as a child. And I was into sports like track and soccer. I've never stopped being athletic and active, always trying something new. I took up roller blading a few years ago. I had a slight advantage in the fine tuning of that skill. I taught myself how to do it with the aid of having stroller handles to hold onto. I'm not sure the neighbors ever got used to the sight of me flying around the neighborhood with a whooping three year old screaming happily "faster mommy, faster!"
Bought a snow board that my son and I were both excited about learning to do together. Unfortunately spring came early this year. "Next winter." We promise each other with identical impish grins.
No, I'm not a typical thirties something. "They" say we all have to grow up eventually. My answer to that is always "just try and make me!"
