The interview on Friday kick-started a very angst-filled weekend. I've been alternating between dreams where in every other one I am doing the job (and doing it well!) and in the others I get that awkward phone call... The weekend wasn't made any easier by Manchester United defeat to Norwich City either.
I've been (awake and in my dreams) going over the questionnaire and the pre-interview-evaluation form I had to fill, schlepping down the endless swamp of shoulda-coulda-wouldas. The thing is, it took me 6 months to land this interview, so the pressure is unbearable. Even if the job itself is for only 3 months. After that they should have new funding that will allow for an extension but even so the successful candidate will have to re-apply and go through all this again.
The evaluation form had questions such as "where do you see yourself in one year?" and where do you see yourself in 5 years?". Now, if I actually were that organized and had a plan to follow I probably wouldn't be in this pickle to begin with. Where do I see myself in one year if things continue like this? Living with my parents. And in five (after having lived with my parents for the previous 4) ? Living in an asylum.
For my next interview (should there ever be one) I will need to employ a wardrobe assistant to guarantee the excellence of my sartorial choices, Photoshop technician to make sure I look flawless at every angle (and airbrush away the anxiety-induced red patches and profuse sweating) and a PR expert to filter everything I intend to say as opposed to what I should say. Oh my God- I'm Mel Gibson.
The situation in Gaza didn't exactly improve the weekend either. I am trying to stay up-to-date and have an informed opinion. It just always seems to end up being the wrong one. (I AM Mel Gibson.)
I should find out about the job today. It's 11:22 am. Is it too early to start drinking?
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