This time last week I was presenting most of the symptoms of salmonellosis — probably turkey-induced — and was worried that I’d have to reschedule a job interview that I had last Friday. Fortunately the more severe symptoms abated by the time I showed up to do my thing.

As for the interview itself, either I did really well, or I was magnificently wrong. Should know within the month. If all goes well, I’ll tell you who it was with; if it doesn’t, I’ll continue to plug away on the projects. If I had to bet, I’d say things look good.

Because the parking in downtown Ottawa is spectacularly expensive, I parked in Aylmer and took the bus in. Possibly the first time I’ve been on a city bus in more than a year. The ride in was smooth enough, but outside of rush hour the STO’s schedule is less than skeletal: one milk run bus per hour. It took me twice as long to get back to the car as the inbound trip, and, naturally, I was a wee bit motion sick by the time I got off the bus. Stupid No. 42 bus.

So I walked it off at the Galeries Aylmer mall, where I’d parked. Stopped by the real-estate kiosks to see what was listed. Noticed that they had the rural stuff for my area in addition to the Aylmer listings. Browsed around a bit. Saw photos of our old apartment — living room, bedroom, kitchen — replete with our cats. Froze.

Our old landlords — great people, incidentally — were putting the building up for sale; the real estate agents had been by in the spring, before we’d moved out, to take measurements and pictures. This I knew; I just didn’t expect them to be on display in a mall. I’ve been trying to decide since then whether I’m bothered by this, and, in the end, I don’t think I am: for one thing, we don’t live there any more; for another, it’s no different from all the photos I’ve posted online myself anyway. But on the other hand, it’s one thing to be relatively open about what you decide to reveal about yourself and your life, quite another to have someone else make that decision. In this case, though, I’ll live.

Saturday was Railfair, where I behaved myself and only bought one book, despite the presence of Proto 2000 Alco S3s in the right paint for only $90. I decided it’d be better to regret not having bought something than to regret having bought something; money’s tight right now. The crowds were unbelieveable, though: tightly packed, rude, inattentive to their surroundings. And not every vendor seemed all that interested in selling things. Just like reptile shows, in other words. Hobbies are not dissimilar.

Since then, not much. The AS has flared up again, and to say that I’m uncomfortable is putting things mildly. It’s the season for it, and the fact that I’ve been expecting it, to some extent, helps me cope.

It’s hard, though, because it does slow me down a bit, and while I understand intellectually that I should give myself permission to be disabled, it doesn’t make me any less restless in practice. Between this and the salmonella, I’m feeling awfully behind at the moment.