I never did find those funky sneakers. I'm going to look again today. I already have two kinds of Pumas and Converse low-tops, but now I suspect I need Vans. Need. I'm not even going to write about the job interview I have this afternoon because I read an article about how employers spy on their employees, and their internet lives. Plus, I don't want to jinx it. I may have to journal about it separately. Also, if I don't get the job, then I've dragged you all into this drama that wouldn't exist had I not brought it up and then I feel all, ugh. Last night Stella woke up every half hour crying hysterically. She knew I had other things on my mind, like, what the hell am I going to wear to this job interview I'm not blogging about? She sensed my emotional estrangement. Is that grammatically correct? It just sounds more poetic than "emotional neglect." I guess I'm a sucker for alliteration. Oh boy. I like to sigh. I do it a lot, especially now that I'm a mom. Once I battle the kids into the car in the morning and finally sit in the driver's seat, I let out a sigh and it's the one moment of my day when I feel collected. Or calm, or like crying. Or laughing, depending on my optimism level. I've decided that I'm cynical, but optimistic. I still believe in fairy tales and karma, because if it's all chaos and nothing means anything and there's no consequential bearing on my actions, then I'm really going to be stressed. Sigh. Sometimes when Bryan comes along in the car in the morning (I drop him off on the corner near the subway), we sigh simultaneously. I think this is another reason I am probably going to keep Hamish home Fridays, to simply avoid the morning upheaval of our lives. You wouldn't think that getting two tots out the door at 8:30 would be a harrowing ordeal that required sighing. Ugh, Stella, she stirs.