Feeling: hopeful. and manic.
Listening to: Frou Frou
Reading/Watching: Constant Princess, by Philippa Gregory

I realized that most people don't know What's Going On with me these days.

Eight days ago, I went from carrying a filled-out job application in my purse to turning it in, getting a call for an interview that afternoon, and being offered the job the following day.

It's a little breakfast-and-lunch cafe that bakes its own bread and has all homemade desserts. It's one of my favorite places to eat, and Monday (my day off), I went for orientation and a bit of training, to see how I liked it, being very clear with the owner and managers that this was a trying-things-out deal, and I had not given my notice at my other job. I shadowed the waitress, doing nothing but watching her work and occasionally bringing people drink orders. I had fun, the people are nice, I helped a lot of customers, I learned how the place works.

It's not a chain, so the dress code and rules are VERY relaxed. It's only open 8-3, so no crazy Friday nights, and does not have a 30-minute-meal type promise (as a matter of fact, the menu specifically states "this is a relaxed dining atmosphere and all food is served fresh; please allow adequate time for your meal"). I would be out of work by 1 or 2 if I open, and 3 or 4 if I close. Yay for time for rehearsals and classes.

The kicker? The waitress training me apologized, saying it was a "very slow day" and lamented that she only earned $40 in tips. I informed her that $40 for six hours of work is better than I can expect from my current "full time" job, and that's without the additional $2.13 an hour on my paycheck (so sad, isn't it?).

So yesterday, I wrote out my two-weeks'-notice by hand and put a copy in the GM's mailbox, as well as my direct supervisor's. I got a bit choked up explaining things when one of my co-workers walked in, all sunny and bouncy, and asked why I looked sad. Then one of the supervisors (a guy my age, who was promoted while I was working there so he's not a boss-type-person) had to go ahead and hug me when I was teary, which of course just opened the floodgates (silly boy, very bad idea to hug the crying Katie... but he didn't know). I walked out feeling all wrong, as if I was making a horrible mistake, because the thought of not working with these wonderful people anymore was so damn depressing (even though three of my "wonderful people" have already left, and three more are leaving soon... it's a very rats-on-a-sinking-ship type situation ever since they fired Eve). I explained the situation to my supervisor, and as I was walking out the GM was walking in. She looked startled to see me crying, but I didn't explain.

I like working there. I just can't afford to work there. And if they want me to stay, they'll have to hike up my pay considerably, which I know they won't (and probably can't). So there you go.

Today, on my other day off, I went in for another bout of training at the caf�, this time with my trainer shadowing me, instead of the other way around. They got slammed for a grand total of forty-five minutes. Eighteen tables (one a 10-top), for two waitresses and a first-day-trainee to handle. Then it petered out again.

Today, we divvied up the tips, because my trainer felt bad about taking them from me, and combined it was $74. For four hours, three of which were remarkably easy. I got to sleep late, work a bit, and still have an evening to do fun things. Seriously, folks. I can definitely put up with that. Especially in an atmosphere of friendly people, where their radio station plays Rhett Miller and REM and Snow Patrol and Sarah McLachlan.

After training, I went to check out apartments (we've been hunting, with indifferent results, for the past few weeks), and the place we were trying to find (recommended by my sister-in-law) was just not there at all. So I took mon coeur back to a location I've checked out before, and Nimsay joined us, because it was a ground-floor loft and I wanted to see if she could get in with her scooter, thus making visiting possible (and yay for being able to throw parties without feeling guilty).

It's big, it's a decent price, it's accessible to people in scooters (except for the upstairs portion, obviously), it has room for a guest room/office and a spare bathroom. The kitchen is quite small, so we may need to invest in some storage-type furniture for our copious amount of wedding-gift dishes and sundry, but overall, I love the way it looks and feels, and it's one of those places where I instantly started picturing how we'd set up our stuff. (The couch will go there, the TV against this wall, my keyboard and music books by the stairs...) Plus? Four closets. Four. Two of them of the walk-in variety. No more Piles of Random Crap hanging out in corners or shoved under the stairs.

We went ahead and put in an application and deposit, so that no one else will take that particular one (the ground floor thing is quite important to me), and we're hoping they'll let us hold off on moving until May 1st.

Part of me is panicking (omfg so much change! wavy Kermit arms!), but part of me is reminding the panicky part that we can afford a bigger place even if I don't change jobs, and moving to a job with predictable, daytime-only hours is a huge asset that almost matters more than the additional money (almost. luckily the money is good, too).

So, the part of me that is panicking? The part that keeps me awake at night, hissing that I'm moving backward, regressing into being Just A Waitress, that I'll hate it and quit and not be admitted into grad school and be a depressed unemployed loser again? That part can shut up now and let me sleep at night again, thankyouverymuch.

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