F*&K You, UTI...Love, Toolbag

I'm doing a lot of waiting, lately.

Waiting to hear about my son's placement into Residential Treatment. It's a long story which can be best summed up by the phrase "That boy ain't right in the head." We'll get him sorted out, eventually, so don't worry too much. Until then, however, we need to keep him out of jail, out of rehab, and off the streets.

Waiting to see what my next temp assignment will be. The last one ended rather abruptly yesterday, so I'm thrown into the world of never being able to plan more than a day ahead because I may be called for an assignment. Such is the life of a professional temp.

To be honest, and I think that maybe you'd be okay with the above as justification, I'm a little bit rundown. A little blue. A little, dare we say, depressed? Depressed in the "I'm rising dough and someone just stuck their finger in my side" kind of depressed, not the "I haven't showered in three days and my idea of a good time is the toast landing on the floor right side up" kind.

At times like these in my life, I return to the familiar for solace. Instead of sitting on the couch watching "16 Candles" or as in other more severe cases, Sesame Street, I went to the library and lost myself for a while.

Rows and Rows and Rows and Rows of other worlds to escape into and things to find out about. Escapism at it's best. And better yet, it's free and...legal...and...won't make you want to eat an entire serving tray of marshmallow and Dorito sandwiches.

After a couple of hours, I found two crochet books I wanted to play with, a fiction book for my son, and a book about the various mathematical and scientific figures who didn't let a little manic depression, schizophrenia, or an unnatural affection for pigeons keep them from doing amazingly brilliant things.

By then it was 2pm and I was hungry. Luckily, the Mall is a scant 100 paces away from the library so I packed up my proverbial troubles and went on over for some lunch. I had Chik-fil-A and then played around with some yarn for a bit.

3 pm rolled around and I decided to go on a walk. A different sort of walk. The kind of walk I used to do when I was a kid. With $2o bucks in my pocket, I used to see what cool things I could bring home having spent as a little as possible. The booty: A backpack from HotTopic for $10. Two journals and a book about American Artists $7. Dairy Queen $2.00

Girl was done with her patient and on her way to get me so I walked over to the window seat near the mall entrance. On the table had been carved "F*CK UTI, Love Toolbag."

I'm pretty sure there's a novel in that. Toolbag, the car mechanic from the wrong side of the tracks and UTI, the Technological Institution that threw him out. He must still hold some affection for the place, I pondered, owing that to is sign off. Maybe he just couldn't spell Sincerely.

I was building Toolbag as a character when Girl pulled up to the curb. Toolbag would have to wait, but I was feeling generally better. That might have been the brief foray into fiction or the medium half and half cone but it didn't matter. When I got home, the temp agency called and asked if they could send my particulars over to a manufacturing company near here.

I happily obliged.