That was Thursday. It was now Friday and the peppercorns were camera-ready. Looking as though they had been casually, hurriedly, perhaps even accidentally strewn across a cutting board, the peppercorns added a welcome nod to reality in what otherwise appeared to be a pristine, state-of-the-art kitchen (but what was really a hot, muggy, dusty studio). No, I don't think I could have been any happier. I mean, if someone has to style the peppercorns--and you know, somebody does have to and, let's face it, I have that down--why shouldn't it be me?
Of course, I still don't know how long this project is expected to last. I'm afraid to ask anyone for fear that pinning down such information will somehow put a crack in this latest of employment related magic spells. Thus, it is wisely and rationally that I've decided to ignore the issue of deadlines altogether and instead simply keep showing up. I'll simply keep showing up and they'll simply keep paying me. It's so reasonable I can't believe I never thought of it before.
I already miss it, though. This job. I miss it and I even envy the situation as though I'm somewhat outside my own body and all the glamor of peppercorn staging were actually happening to someone else. It's as though my brain has found a new hack wherein I circumvent the terrible experience of being laid off by jumping directly to the part where I'm standing in the unemployment line:
I really miss this, my new job!
Seriously. I really do.