Well folks, I can tell you right now that I didn't get into the program.
While I didn't go in nervous, the interview went from bad to worse...at which point it came up that I was moving away and hoping to defer...and it basically ended right there. They had NOTHING good to say about me.
I walked out of there wanting to cry. It was a wierd kind of wanting to cry though, since I couldn't really tell where the tears were coming from.
I told myself that it was ok to be upset about what had happened...getting into this program was something I'd thought about doing for a while and at one point had been really important to me. Unfortunately, I'd already decided to move away a couple months before I heard about the grant for this program opening up.
So, given the choice...which is basically what it came down to...I chose to go to Texas.
The Overflow Effect
This is when something happens, like the bad interview and having to choose between two things I love (American Sign Language and cars)...and this upset feeling starts to overflow into my thoughts about all areas of my life...
Like...telling myself I must be a horrible person, to change directions so drastically in my life...and in so doing leave behind so many people and things that I love.
I told myself that I should DEFINITELY call the greaser and tell him that he's better off without me...I mean, being so horrible, what kinda good am I serving him? What kind of girl would move away from the man she loves to follow some stupid selfish dream?
I kept myself from bursting into tears until I got home...and only after fixing myself a nice strong drink.
I called my friend E, who had roped me into going to this naughty party, the night before..."The Kinky Cowboy." I told her about my depressive meltdown and she convinced me to come out anyway. I knew I would feel better going out with her and hanging with the girls. I always do. It was just a matter of forcing my ass out the door. Which she did, by saying she'd pick me up in a cab downstairs.
So there I was...dressed like a cowgirl...standing in front of my building waiting for her. I probably looked more like a prostitute dressed up like a cowgirl, judging by the looks I got. But who cares?
We arrived at about 10:30 PM...and after five shots of tequila (on top of the drink beforehand) and three beers later...there were pasties, pole dancing, and a proposition by a couple to go home with them. A typical night really...By 2:00 AM I was ready to go.
E was getting it on with the new intern who helps to throw the parties, and I certainly wasn't going to interupt. So I headed home, with just enough time for a call to the greaser (not to tell him any of the above) and two veggie dogs, before passing out in my armchair.
I really gotta re-think this whole passing out in my armchair thing. I mean, at least you'd think I could make it over to my couch?!
While I didn't go in nervous, the interview went from bad to worse...at which point it came up that I was moving away and hoping to defer...and it basically ended right there. They had NOTHING good to say about me.
I walked out of there wanting to cry. It was a wierd kind of wanting to cry though, since I couldn't really tell where the tears were coming from.
I told myself that it was ok to be upset about what had happened...getting into this program was something I'd thought about doing for a while and at one point had been really important to me. Unfortunately, I'd already decided to move away a couple months before I heard about the grant for this program opening up.
So, given the choice...which is basically what it came down to...I chose to go to Texas.
The Overflow Effect
This is when something happens, like the bad interview and having to choose between two things I love (American Sign Language and cars)...and this upset feeling starts to overflow into my thoughts about all areas of my life...
Like...telling myself I must be a horrible person, to change directions so drastically in my life...and in so doing leave behind so many people and things that I love.
I told myself that I should DEFINITELY call the greaser and tell him that he's better off without me...I mean, being so horrible, what kinda good am I serving him? What kind of girl would move away from the man she loves to follow some stupid selfish dream?
I kept myself from bursting into tears until I got home...and only after fixing myself a nice strong drink.
I called my friend E, who had roped me into going to this naughty party, the night before..."The Kinky Cowboy." I told her about my depressive meltdown and she convinced me to come out anyway. I knew I would feel better going out with her and hanging with the girls. I always do. It was just a matter of forcing my ass out the door. Which she did, by saying she'd pick me up in a cab downstairs.
So there I was...dressed like a cowgirl...standing in front of my building waiting for her. I probably looked more like a prostitute dressed up like a cowgirl, judging by the looks I got. But who cares?
We arrived at about 10:30 PM...and after five shots of tequila (on top of the drink beforehand) and three beers later...there were pasties, pole dancing, and a proposition by a couple to go home with them. A typical night really...By 2:00 AM I was ready to go.
E was getting it on with the new intern who helps to throw the parties, and I certainly wasn't going to interupt. So I headed home, with just enough time for a call to the greaser (not to tell him any of the above) and two veggie dogs, before passing out in my armchair.
I really gotta re-think this whole passing out in my armchair thing. I mean, at least you'd think I could make it over to my couch?!
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And did you briefly make an appearance at the dinner before the show, or did I imagine it?