Megsie

I had an interview this morning. My first since moving here. I believe it went well, despite the irony of my skirt-and-high-heels clad self insisting that I don’t mind doing things like taking out the trash because “I’m not a girly-girl,” and my repeated invocation of the stumbling interjection “um”.

I don’t know if I interview well, but the interviewers seemed at least charmed by my effort. For my part, I hope I get the job, not least of all because of the much-needed paycheck, but also because the people seem kind and the company (an organic grocery store) is one I would be proud to work for.

Another reason why I need a job: something to keep me from brooding. I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that moving has cleared my mind of other distractions, allowing me to spend copious amounts of time thinking. This is not as great as it might seem. In Boise, during the worst times in the past few years, I lived in a haze of smoke and alcohol: going to bed sober was the exception, not the rule (and oh, it worked gloriously, while the buzz lasted); here I have only my thoughts running wild over those fragile little wisps of optimism and opportunity that I string together and call hope.

I try not to tell myself that this is my last chance, but sometimes that’s how I feel.
I’m on the verge of all good things. I have to try.