sick days

I'm stuck at home with a whopper cold and that makes living life somewhat difficult. The problem with missing work is that you are half-thinking about it the whole day. 

Time is ticking down at my soon-to-be old job and I'm not having any sentimental feelings about it whatsoever. When I was twenty-one I quit the newspaper and cried a little while leaving the building on my last evening there. I thought about the ending of the Mary Tyler Moore show, shutting out the lights and leaving the office. I said goodbye to the night editor and he wished me luck with all of my future endeavors. This was the same man who, two years before, ended a ten-minute rant about his job by asking me how old I was. I responded that I was nineteen. "Nineteen," he repeated in a high-pitched nasal tone, "When you are my age, don't work here!" I kind of wonder if he is still working at the Oregonian; ten years older with ten years of further resentment and anxiety. I never want that to be me. 

Today I passed a business that had two pigs nuzzling on its awning.

Pilsen Piggy Hug

family

I have this thing where if Lev says that he thinks he is getting sick I start to feel like I am getting sick. But I can't be getting sick because I have a very important job interview Tuesday. Psychosomatic influence, go away! In the meantime, my wonderful stepdad, aunt and cousin are in town and they met Lev and I for breakfast today at the Ritz-Carlton (fancy!--aunt and cousin were staying there).

I purchased a lovely mid-century modern lounge chair yesterday. I told Lev about it when I picked him up from work and he was like, "Does it recline?"

Gratuitous living room/lovely modern chair shots, to follow.

Danish mid-century modern lounger that, unfortunately for some, does not recline

and this is a fabric close-up, don't know why it looks kind of green here (it's very blue).