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There is such a satisfying feeling when the writing comes together. Kind of like the sweet feel of crushing a home run or smacking a golf ball straight and long down the fairway, two things I have never done. But I can imagine.

I was still writing this afternoon when Diablo’s constant crying at the front door drove me crazy. I put her on the leash and brought her outside. Her antics made me lose my concentration and stirred up the back flies, which almost made me lose my wits.

Since arriving back in New York, I have applied for four jobs and landed two. “What recession?” You might ask. I have landed two, but both leave me underemployed, but I don't care. One job I applied for was a human resources manager. I’m not holding my breath and would have strong mixed feelings about seriously pursuing and landing it.

I must remind myself that just days ago it was 30 degrees. A job in upstate New York for the next three to five years would be a personal sacrifice of epoch proportions. So it would have to be one damn good job. Hell, I have the “I can do anything attitude” when it is 70 degrees outside and the sun rises before 5 AM and sets after 8. So easy to forget chipping ice off the windshield, listening to the empty crank of the starter and not the engine, continuously fighting involuntary cramping of cold feet, and I’m not even mentioning paying New York State taxes.

But nothing to worry about until or if I have to cross that bridge. One more overdue doctor bill and I’m here.

Anyway, on Tuesday I’m going to meet with Steve the Master Bath dude, who has a bath remodel job starting on Wednesday. His unusual listing on Craig’s List prompted me to pull together a resume detailing the experiences I have had in remodeling my apartment kitchen and making landlord repairs to roofs, walls, floors, not to mention plumbing and electrical work. Toss in paint experience and I was pretty impressed with my own resume. He was looking for ex-military women. Claims women on the job are neater. You think? We talked and we will see. Since helping Dad hang new insulation in the garage ceiling the other day, my sore muscles are still recovering.

The other job is as a Peace Officer at the track. Of course anyone who can basically fog a mirror and tie their shoes can get this job. But few can look the part. I can look the part and talk it too.

There is a ten hour training course and a test, but if it is anything like the training for security guard and I imagine it will be, then I won’t have to worry about a need for heavy breathing to cloud that mirror. Training isn't until mid-July, but the Captain swore me in on Tuesday. There is a need for a boat load of us in Belmont on June 6. It’s a $225 gig that starts and ends with a long bus ride. Time consumed probably will be close to twenty four hours. So what is that per hour?

My only concern is my fingerprints. For the third time they have been taken. (Not stolen.) Last year I never got m security license because they couldn't be processed. This time I was told mine are kind of faint. Must be all that typing I do. Apparently, they can wear away. Am I smelling a life of crime as my next career move?

"You'll never catch me copper."