The T

I have a job.

I am a part-time sales associate with Home Depot, working in their Kitchens and Baths department.

They want me.

I am so grateful that they didn't put me through the rigamarole of "well thanks so much, we'll be contacting you for a second interview." Going into it, that was the deal as explained to me. Home Depot asks nine questions, and based on those, I may or may not be called back to interview with the head of the department, blah blah blah.

The nine questions were pretty thought provoking. Along the lines of "think of a situation in your life..." and then some tricky situation was set out. Anyway, at the end of the nine questions, the human resources woman said, "Sit tight for a minute, and let me see if the manager for Kitchens and Baths is available." And he was. And I had a sit-down with him. And afterwards, human resources woman offered me the job.

And guess what? I'll be making $1.50 an hour more than I was making when I left Wuperior Soodcraft, albeit only working part time.

And, as became clear during the interview, Home Depot is a good job. It provides me with numerous opportunities for advancement. Home Depot is looking for hard working, motivated, sharp people, and I'm one of them.

I can't help but wonder if the next time a lush Project Manager job comes along I might end up getting it instead of being a very close number two candidate. After all, I'm be operating from a position of strength. If my metaphor that job hunting is like dating, nothing is less attractive than desparation, and for the past few months, I've had it oozing out of every pore.

Coming out of Home Depot (and the store was sure full of hotties), I felt great. Better than I have in a long time. I hit Quizno's for lunch, then headed to Starbucks in Doylestown. Alas, the porch was filled with kids, giving it all the ambiance of a high school cafeteria. I went around the corner to Bucks County Coffee and set myself up on the porch. There, I started making phone calls to share my good news.

Among my phone calls was to a certain Romantic Interest. I've owed him a phone call for about three weeks, but just haven't been able to get it together to give him a call. He said something pretty interesting on the phone, describing how his new doctor, of whom he has a pretty low opinion, seems to have let his testosterone levels go right into the basement. He's been wondering why he hasn't had anything to give to his workouts at the gym, why he felt so bad about himself, why his outlook was suddenly so bleak and the world seemed so daunting. A couple of shots and a testicular patch later and he's a new man.

And my immediate area was suddenly more brightly illuminated by the light bulb that appeared over my head.

Not to be too biochemically reductionist about this, but... I once heard that testosterone levels decreased in athletes after they lost a game. Now just what would be the effect of week after week after week of rejection?

I haven't been to the gym in two months. I just haven't had it in me. I haven't jerked off for weeks, something that for most of my adult life has been a nightly ritual. And bleak outlook? Yeah there's been a little of that, huh?

In the immortal words of the great Kurt Vonnegut in Breakfast Of Champions, "I've got bad chemicals in my head." Or in this case, I'm lacking one very good chemical.

But what about all of my devastatingly on-target socio-economic analyses and indictments? I'm not just going to let those go, chart them up to neurochemistry. After all, throughout the ages, what we now call bi-polar disorder has given the world some good stuff: Van Gogh's Starry Night, Christopher Marlowe's plays... Not that I'm in their league, but I'm just sayin'...

So guess what else. Those athletes, after they win a game, their testosterone levels go up.

And tomorrow, after softball, I have a date.