In The Air

Yesterday was the big interview. I was so nerved up that I spent my morning researching teaching philosophies, and trying to prep answers for questions I didn't know.

When I went to iron my good button down "grown-up lady" short, my iron left behind a rusty stain. I sprayed with Shout, scrubbed with water, and swore like a sailor, but it was beyond a quick fix. Frantically, I tore through my closet, looking for anything semi-professional that still fit me. I put on a black shirt dress, which looked nice, but depressing- the last time I wore it was to my grandmother's funeral. I tore through the rest of my limited wardrobe, bemoaning the fact that I worked in a casual office where jeans and long-sleeved shirts were the norm.

Finally I settled on black slacks (a bit snug, but workable) and my fancy red sweater with the drapey cowl neck. Donning my newly made sea glass necklace and favorite pair of earrings, I applied a heavy layer of makeup to hide the stress blemishes, and prayed I wouldn't vomit on anybody.

I arrived early, due to my anxiety over getting lost, and waited on a bench next to another woman. After a brief chat, I discovered she was trying to go back to school after 10 years, and she was I-want-to-vomit nervous as well. She helped ease my fears about being the only mom trying to go back to school after years of being out of the formal education system. Unfortunately, she was dressed a lot nicer than me, and her skin was picture perfect. It made me kinda wanna push her down a flight of stairs, but instead I smiled and wished her luck.

Once I was in the interview room, seated across the table from the two uber-professional female professors, I think my IQ dropped by about 70 points. I think I answered the questions appropriately, but I could hear myself ramble and laugh nervously. It took a mighty effort to make eye contact as my eyes rolled heavenward, hoping some entity had placed brilliant, witty answers on the ceiling. I prayed I was making sense as the words rolled out of my mouth.

As the interview came to a close, I asked when I could expect to be notified if I'd been accepted or not. They weren't sure exactly when, and explained it was a fairly long process, and there was a whole second round of applications to consider. However, at the end, they made a remark that I should expect to be very busy at the beginning of August. The program begins in August. Was this a veiled hint that I could expect to be accepted? My brain was so addled that I tried not to make much of it.

On my way out, I asked the secretary if she could give me a clearer idea of when acceptance letters would go out. She said around the end of March. Plenty of time to worry, to try to recall my jumbled responses and kick myself in the shins repeatedly.