for all those that use this as reference for the length of time we have been ‘real people,’ today is in fact, day 131, yesterday was 130 and the day before was 129. Ya dig?
Day 130 was the day of my most recent phone interview. Sort of.
2:58pm: meet my parents in the most architecturally inspiring mcdonalds somewhere in western, va. we are close to west virginia, I can feel it in my bones. buy h20, say goodbye to dc (for the 10th time since day 1) and hop in the car.
4:42pm: stop in md for chex mix. think that I should reach in the back and get my laptop to start interview prep and then remember car wifi is not a thing, but car sickness is. try to sleep, mom is telling me about a ballet documentary she watched on a plane.
6:47pm: head bob so hard that I smack said head on the window. a nap is now out of the picture.
7:30pm: tell my grandma for the sixth time that no, I do not want tortellini soup, I have just come to retrieve the dog. somehow she knows about the interview. yes, its at 11:30 tomorrow, grandma.
8:00pm: pull out my laptop and special notebook reserved for interview notes. On the cover it says “chase your dreams, you might catch one.” could I be more heart wrenchingly literal?
8:30pm: carbo load.
9:45pm: exit a dark tunnel lined with case studies, an open office floor plan and a really healthy sized vimeo account via the whistling of the tea kettle. meditate on how not to get my hopes up while drinking from a mug my mother has had since she was 22.
11:00pm: get into long philosophical conversation about ‘the kind of writing I want to do,’ as if I have any choice. then spend at least 5 minutes explaining how I can still be excited without getting my hopes up. I get my hopes up in doing so.
day 130//day of
8:30am: wake up. it is christopher robbins blustery which makes me happy because: flannels.
8:42am: dad thinks I should work out to ‘get pumped.’ I agree (sort of). I go on a brisk walk because I am a soccer mom who lives in suburbia.
9:00am: my brisk walk is short. as in I walked back and my dad said, “are you kidding me?” I was not, sir, kidding.
9:55am: open my email to confirm that my phone call is at 11:30 (in which case I will be sitting in front of my computer, phone poised at the ready by no later than 11:12). all I really confirm is that my interview was at 11:30 but is in fact no longer at 11:30.
9:55:13am: I throw my hands to the ceiling (mom gives me a look like lord help the man..) because dammit my hopes were up again. I reread the email. My interviewer is sick, BUT they want to reschedule!! Reschedule!!
9:55:53am: Email them back saying that I am “so flexible in my schedule. I can talk at anytime.” This would have at one point in my life hurt my ego; I now use it as my mating dance for future employers.
10:11am: She thanks me for my flexibility (!!) and asks if Wednesday will work. It works.
Rinse & Repeat.