Dear Jerry,
The letters are coming in -- but nothing sounds very encouraging. The State Department has no openings at present and sounds like a glorified Peace Corps, anyway.
Roosevelt in NY and Mass General require shift rotation, one thing I'm trying to get away from. Neither the hospitals themselves, the locations, nor the salaries are very impressive.
However, my first choice was Stanford in Palo Alto. If this place doesn't appear to be better than the others, I'll stay here, work at sunrise, and start classes at Nevada Southern.
I had my hopes set too high!
Did I ever tell you that the woman who thinks the way to a man's heart is through his stomach has set her sights too high?
By the way please give me somehits hints (Freudian slip of the pen) for a Christmas present.
I went to see Bob Patrick, photographer, today. His home studio is a God-forsaken spot at the last end of Desert Inn Road. He does good work but he looks rather creepy and I don't care for the lecherous glint in his eye! I'd better curb this wild imagination or go to Broadway for a blah portrait.
Hell,
Barbara
The letters are coming in -- but nothing sounds very encouraging. The State Department has no openings at present and sounds like a glorified Peace Corps, anyway.
Roosevelt in NY and Mass General require shift rotation, one thing I'm trying to get away from. Neither the hospitals themselves, the locations, nor the salaries are very impressive.
However, my first choice was Stanford in Palo Alto. If this place doesn't appear to be better than the others, I'll stay here, work at sunrise, and start classes at Nevada Southern.
I had my hopes set too high!
Did I ever tell you that the woman who thinks the way to a man's heart is through his stomach has set her sights too high?
By the way please give me some
I went to see Bob Patrick, photographer, today. His home studio is a God-forsaken spot at the last end of Desert Inn Road. He does good work but he looks rather creepy and I don't care for the lecherous glint in his eye! I'd better curb this wild imagination or go to Broadway for a blah portrait.
Hell,
Barbara
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