I've got a bullshitting hat that I am about to put on and wear under my winter cap. I don't really want to go outside, since it looks pretty yucky, this snow, rain mix that is coming down, but I have an interview at 3 in midtown to do data entry at some financial services company. Doesn't that just scream fun? Thus, the bullshitting cap. Yes, I would love to do data entry. I would be thrilled. Yes, tons of experience and qualifications. Totally.

I already lied on the phone to this guy when he said that they were looking for people with experience doing seven-eight hour days of data entry, told him that lots of my days at the Princeton Review were spent doing data entry, when maybe two half days were, and God, how boring those were, how I checked the time on my phone every five minutes. But the job pays 35K, which sounds like a million dollars to me since when doing my taxes, I learned that I only made 5K in taxable income last year. That shocked me, that somehow I survived off of that and the odd sex work jobs I got.

I am doubtful that I will get this job since I don't have banking experience, very little data entry experience, and tend to get nervous and make typos when under the pressure of a timed typing test, but since I need a job, I need to start actually attending these interviews I get.

I should probably start looking around the house to see if I can find an umbrella other than my garish purple one with flowers on it to bring to this interview. Yesterday, I daydreamed for hours about moving to Miami, looked at apartment and rental listings online for the better part of the day. I don't actually intend to move to Miami, at least not anytime soon, but daydreaming is all I want to do. This morning before scheduling this interview, I lied on my couch, drinking coffee, reading the paper, listening to Morrissey and that's where I want to be, in la la land, but it's the way of the world, people have to go to work and do something so that they can be enabled those hours of la la land. I love playing music in the daytime in my umemployment really loud, and I do spastic exercises for an hour or so, feeling my tummy at the end of the session and imagining that it is tighter, these daydreams, God, can you tell how unexcited I am about leaving my house this afternoon to go talk to some boring person about some boring job that would bore me to tears.