All Things Profane and Sacred

As much as I hate being unemployed, I hate interviewing more. Picking out clothes and analyzing them like a math problem. Debating every outfits' merits. Attempting to iron shirts that are going to wrinkle as soon as I put them on. Removing as much pet hair as possible. Smearing on enough makeup to look like I'm taking this seriously, but not so much that I feel like a cheap whore (Since I have rarely worn makeup since my great-grandmother told me I looked like a circus clown at age 8, anything on my face makes me feel greasy and garish). Trying to be sincere, but not a syncopant. Trying to shut off the long running ever popular inner dialogue. And, of course, trying not to shift around on the farty sounding chairs everyone keeps especially to trip up interviewees.

The worst part is going over every aspect of the interview later. One minute everything is roses, the next is a fit of shame and despair over some answer or question or stutter. ARRRRRGG. I totally do not feel adult.