All The News That's Fit To Print

My new boss and I decide on a start date. Probably best to do it after my court date with Lars (since I will more than likely be in a mood so foul I'll be unfit for public consumption and therefore harm my chances of winning friends and influencing people in my new job) and my obligation to go to jury duty. (With my luck it will be the murder trial of the century and I'll be sequestered for weeks with a jury of people someone else decided are my peers, despite their disastrous fashion sensibilities and their alarming lack of adequate hygiene and the obvious need for additional education of some sort, beginning with Charm School.)

So, I have about 10 days to have fun before I start. I can hardly wait to get started. These 10 days will be entirely different from the rest of the summer. They will lack the worry and uncertainty of the 120 days that went before them. They will be bright and optimistic and brimming with hope. There is nothing but sunshine and blue skies ahead. I even have clearance to take a trip out West with the girls. With pay. Life is good. Damn good.

But before I do anything, I have people to contact.

Of course I have been squealing with joy to Charlotte. And Craig was bursting with happiness for me. And my buddy Rick, an old friend from college who pumped me up all summer was over the moon. I still had to call Tom, an unflinching, faithful supporter who had sent me books and prayers and good vibes all through out the journey. And my best girlfriends. And my references. Some of them gave me references I could not have scripted myself. I had a lot of thanking to do. I had landed my dream job and it had taken a village. For the second time in a year I had been shown the power of friendship. My sister and her family and a wide circle of friends had kept me afloat, as opposed to adrift. I needed to tell each of them personally how much it had meant to me.

And then I had to face the unavoidable. I had to tell Mom. Not that she had shown the slightest concern for me over the summer. No, she'd not once checked in to see how I was doing. To see how I was fairing financially. To offer a kind word or an encouraging note. No, I was going to sink or swim unnoticed by Estelle. I no longer registered on her radar. And her blip had disappeared from mine for the last time months prior.

But I bit the bullet. Sat on the floor one day (to minimize the chance of injury from fainting if she actually showed the slightest enthusiasm) and dialed her number. Thank God for contact lists. I would never had known the number from rote memory.

I dial and wait. She picks up eventually. She probably had to turn down the TV a few decibels and yell and Bill to stop coughing up a lung so she could hear herself think and whoever the hell it is on the phone. Either that or she was eeny-meeny-miney-mo-ing her decision to answer my call at all.

She sounds happy enough to hear from me. I am suspicious, though. She's like a snake who sits very still all coiled up and then pounces. I am breathless. But I get right to the big news and to my surprise, she seems overjoyed. Genuinely happy. It's fun to say you've landed a job with a company everyone has heard of. Most of what I am happy about she'd have little appreciation for so I gloss over a lot and stick to the details she'll be interested in. She tries to get me to tell her my salary. I gracefully tap dance around that and stick to things like free coffee and great discounts. I tell her it has been a long journey but worth the wait. I have used the time wisely. I have gotten myself into great shape. I feel healthy and look healthy. I have spent a lot of time outdoors. I have let my hair grow. I've given my skin a long break from makeup and it has paid off. Everyone should get the chance to do what I've done.

She seems anxious to change the subject, so I let her. We make mindless small talk about all kinds of bullshit she ruminates about because of the alarming lack of purpose in her life. It's a shame. She seems to dwell on topics that have not been important in years. Long resolved issues and memories that I can barely retrieve. But it's either that or politics. And politics is one can of worms that I'd sooner toss into the incinerator than open. It defines the shortest distance between here and the looney bin.

But without politics we have very little to talk about, and she eventually makes the "I have to run to the bathroom" excuse she usually makes when she's gotten bored and has pontificated sufficiently to feel like she's gotten her way.

I let her go. And go and get a beer. It's 4 pm and I've earned one.

Three sips in, Estelle calls back.

"Liza, there is something I forgot to mention to you..."

And with that, I am sure I can hear the approaching hooves of the Four Horses of the Apocalypse.