Nekkid, Clueless and Feelin' Good: August 7, 2001

Tuesday,
August 7, 2001

I suppose my nails can always grow back. . .eventually

This has been an interesting day, in the full sense of the Chinese curse. I had my interview this morning -- went well, I met with the hiring manager and the other tech writer on the project, liked them both very much, they both seemed to like me, the work is challenging but not soul-destroying, could I leave my writing samples for the manager to review, no problem, he'll make a decision quickly and get back to me tomorrow, yadda yadda yadda.

The moment I stepped outside, of course, I was convinced that they'd hate my samples and wonder why I ever thought I was literate. "But that's the way TBS wanted me to write," I'd wail when they called to say that I could forget about it. "I can do better, just give me a chance!"

This mood continued all afternoon, to the point where I called the recruiter just to see if there had been any feedback, good or bad, from the company. She said she was going to talk to the accounts manager right away and get back to me.

This was at 4:40 pm. By 5:35 pm, there was still no reply, and I was sitting there morosely concocting scenarios in my head where she'd heard from the accounts manager that they loathed me, but she didn't want to break the news to me herself and decided to keep quiet and let the hiring manager tell me tomorrow.

Can you say paranoid? I knew you could.

I finally called and left a truly pathetic voicemail on her mobile phone. Well, pass the Prozac, because she called back around 6:00 pm -- the accounts manager had tried to call the hiring manager for feedback but only got his voicemail. And then I remembered that the HM had talked about a big luncheon that day for a departing upper-level guy. "Well, of course," Stephanie consoled me, "and you know what those going-away lunches are like -- it probably took all afternoon!" She went on to say that all my references were absolutely glowing (she thought you were just a doll, Erin), that of course he needed to review my writing samples, and he'd also need to consult with the other technical writer on the project, and I should take a deep breath and calm down -- I was an excellent match for all their requirements and it sounded like I had a very good interview.

So I'm calmer. Slightly. But I know I'm going to be jumping every time the phone rings tomorrow.

And in an attempt to fight stress with a sugar rush

Of course, after all this I had to go to FutureClassics and try to act like a normal human being. Yeah, right. However, tonight was at Jerry's house, so at least we got to munch on his wife's delicious triple-shot cookies while we critiqued.

In retrospect, though, I probably should have eaten something more protein-based before I went. Pouring sugar onto stress-induced paranoia just made me jumpy as hell, and I wound up getting increasingly irritated with everything and anything as the evening went on (no, guys, you didn't do anything wrong -- Mr. Rogers would have annoyed the hell out of me tonight). It wasn't until I got home and grabbed Scrivener for some astoundingly vicious target practice (I hope I can get those tip tape marks out of the wall) that I remembered what week it was and why I wanted to go out and skewer lowlifes.

Say it with me, sisters -- PMS. Oh, yeah, that explains a lot. I usually don't have much of a problem with it, but once or twice a year it presents in its full-blown fury, and I assume the interview stress just exacerbated it even more. By the time I realized what was going on, however, I'd already worked out a lot of the pent-up energy (one of these days I really have to get a punching bag), so I gave up and went to bed -- it seemed the safest choice in the long run.

So why am I up now? Because I had an incredibly. . .erm, unusual dream that yanked me back into consciousness at 3:30 am this morning. No, it wasn't a nightmare, although there were a couple of horror elements here and there -- let's just say that PMS can produce some really strange image juxtapositions, although how I came up with that haunted elevator still boggles me. . .

TOP