if you're reading this

Dear Person Who Thinks That A Catchy Way to Get the Attention of a Prospective Employer is to Drop Letters at Intervals Around the Store You Hope To Work In (I'll call you PWTTACWTGTAOAPEITDL@IATSYHTWI; I hope that's not too informal for you),

You might recognize yourself from your salutation: "If you're reading this, it means I have already submitted my resume to you!"

While I commend your creativity, I feel that someone should point out to you the actual effect of your letter-dropping, at least in my workplace.

1. I found your letter on the floor of the elevator.

2. I wondered (admittedly, not very seriously) if your letter was full of Dire!Poison!

3. I handed it over to a supervisor, who rolled their eyes, because this was the fifth such letter they had received from you.

After the first time, which I will admit would have made me go and look up your resume to see if I wanted to hire you, although I make no such claims on behalf of any of my managers, it's just littering. If doing it once does not get you the result you hope for, I suggest you move on, because at that point you can determine that either this tactic doesn't get you the right kind of attention, or that the issue is your resume. Perhaps that is where you should direct your energy.

PWTTACWTGTAOAPEITDL@IATSYHTWI, I'm not trying to be a bitch here. I'm trying to help you get a job. Good luck.

'col

I miss my dignity

This was the main thought going through my head when I was struck with a terrible foot cramp at work while multiple onlookers got to witness me going "Ow ow ow ow I'm fine it's just a cramp ow I know what to do about leg cramps but ow ow ow--oh. That's working. Okay."

Max said ten new words this week

I would like to invite all of you to pledge to Team Max in this year's Walk For Autism. Max's mom, Katrina, has been deeply kind and supportive of me in the last few months. She played matchmaker for us with some of her friends who were looking to give away baby things they didn't need any more. She encouraged me when I was miserable and sick and wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into. And what I wonder, every time a note pops up from her with a word of advice about something I've complained about, or a check-in to see how I'm doing, is where the hell does she find the energy?

I can't possibly tell you what it's like to be the parent of a child with autism, much less what it's like to be that kid, but I invite you to consider the following figures:

Recommended treatment for autistic kids: Intensive Behavior Intervention. This is most effective between the ages of 2 and 5. It is recommended that children get a minimum of 21 hours a week of therapy. The cost, out of pocket, is $45 an hour. The wait list for funding for this therapy, as I understand it, is currently hovering somewhere between 2 and 3 years. That doesn't take into account how long you might have to wait to get a diagnosis in the first place. When I think about what this would mean for us--that in order to get appropriate treatment for our child, we would have to pay out more money than we make--I feel sick. And when I read about what Kat's working on to make sure Max gets all the opportunities he deserves, I feel inspired.

Come with me if you want to live.

...Guys?

I know I just moved and all, and there are probably a number of updates that people might be happy to have about what's going on in my life and this trailer is no longer even that new, but...

Apocalyptic sf makes me flaily.

The first Terminator movie made deep deep grooves in my brain when I saw it as a kid, and I am similarly excited about this, Christian Bale's douchebaggery notwithstanding. And how excited am I? I'm wondering whether it would even be possible to get in to see it on Thursday, and if not, how soon thereafter we could go, given our work schedules.

I am full of squee.