The novel is back in the file drawer because it was
attracting clutter in the living room. I had a job interview this week, number
seventeen, and I needed order, a clear mind with clear surroundings. The
windows are even clean for the first time in months, which I thought would be therapeutic
but hasn’t been so far.
Interviews are draining. You have to find just the right
amount of enthusiasm, bouncy and aloof all at the same time.
I put on the good make-up that I bought for my daughter’s
wedding and don “the suit,” which I fear may be cursed but is the most
professional outfit I own. I smile. I answer
everything as best I can, unsure if I am the fisherman trying to reel them in or
if I am the worm dangling from the hook. It feels more like the latter.
It will be two weeks before they let me know, fourteen days
of second-guessing and wondering if some of my responses were as stupid as they
now seem. Is it a job I would enjoy? I
don’t know.
In the mean time, I will read and write…and dangle.
