Working for a Living
Tomorrow is my interview. I am pretty confident they have already unofficially filled the position, but am holding onto a slight sliver of hope that they haven't and I have somewhat of a chance. Worst case scenario, I get to make a social visit to an office full of rockin' cool people in a state I adore. Best case scenario, I get an offer.
You KNOW I will get an offer now that Millie has adjusted to daycare and we'd have to move. She has been like a different kid there. Smiling. Playing. Eating. TAKING A BOTTLE. NOT screaming hysterically for 7 hours a day. Thank GOD. Of course, it may have something to do with the fact that she is finally feeling better. Whatever it is, I am eternally grateful.
Man, I feel like shite. That's the way I like to go into an interview. Screaming headache, that swimming feeling in my head, a sore throat that feels like I have inadvertently swallowed my razor, an ache in my back and neck. The parking is completely hellish in that area in the city. I am quite confident I will have to park down on South Main Street and haul my fat arse up the gi-normous hill in the 95 plus, humid weather. There's nothing like a sweaty handshake to make a fantasmic first impression on an interview. What to wear??? I have a suit jacket, but I fear: a) it will be wayyy to hot to wear it and not drown in my own sweaty filth; and b) it will create that look I detest: fat girl who is trying to look professional but hasn't made it out of 1987. I'll have to do a test run tonight. Too bad we don't own a full-length mirror. Or maybe it's just as well.
Well, I should jet. The 'rents should be landing at any moment. They kindly offered to come up in case Millie was sick for tomorrow. Husband doesn't have any more sick time left and I can't very well haul Animal along to my interview. I am so blessed to have them as parents. I could only hope to be half the mom my mom is.
Later.
You KNOW I will get an offer now that Millie has adjusted to daycare and we'd have to move. She has been like a different kid there. Smiling. Playing. Eating. TAKING A BOTTLE. NOT screaming hysterically for 7 hours a day. Thank GOD. Of course, it may have something to do with the fact that she is finally feeling better. Whatever it is, I am eternally grateful.
Man, I feel like shite. That's the way I like to go into an interview. Screaming headache, that swimming feeling in my head, a sore throat that feels like I have inadvertently swallowed my razor, an ache in my back and neck. The parking is completely hellish in that area in the city. I am quite confident I will have to park down on South Main Street and haul my fat arse up the gi-normous hill in the 95 plus, humid weather. There's nothing like a sweaty handshake to make a fantasmic first impression on an interview. What to wear??? I have a suit jacket, but I fear: a) it will be wayyy to hot to wear it and not drown in my own sweaty filth; and b) it will create that look I detest: fat girl who is trying to look professional but hasn't made it out of 1987. I'll have to do a test run tonight. Too bad we don't own a full-length mirror. Or maybe it's just as well.
Well, I should jet. The 'rents should be landing at any moment. They kindly offered to come up in case Millie was sick for tomorrow. Husband doesn't have any more sick time left and I can't very well haul Animal along to my interview. I am so blessed to have them as parents. I could only hope to be half the mom my mom is.
Later.
posted by Kris at 3:41 PM
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