I'm almost sure I'm moving. Margot found a place that sounds absolutely lovely: a block from Golden Gate Park, backyard we can plant edibles in, pets are allowed so we can so get a bunny, big rooms and lots of space, reasonable (for SF) rent, landlords about to renovate the place a bit so it's even more inhabitable.
I don't have a job landed or anything, but I will. I'm sure of it. I'll figure something out. So far I've made out seven cover letters and resumes, with and without writing samples. I'm sure I'll need to do a lot more fishing before something bites, but it's a good start.
I'm almost done with school, forever. Not an absolute forever, maybe, but probably permanent. One project is nearly finished--I'll post a link when it's up on the school server instead of my home box, which I don't want Google to cache--and another will be done shortly because it's fricking easy. I have to copyedit five stories, trim two, and stick them (up to four can jump) on a broadsheet layout in InDesign and on a paper dummy. With photos that she'll send us. And write headlines and captions. And print out the full copyedited originals. It's nothing compared to the insanity of the other.
I am almost really fucking bored of work.
I am not even almost off work, though. And I'm hungry.
I am almost sure I'll listen to Sufjan Stevens when I get home, though.