“It’s so true, T. I really can make it anywhere.”

Once again–twice in one week, even–I find myself wishing I had written earlier about all the things I wanted to say. In this case, I feel I should get all my ducks in a row (cliche, and one I really don’t understand at that) before I leave.

The marketing machine.

Breathing a little easier today.

I’m getting ahead on my work for the rest of the summer, so the last few days I have to spend at Chautauqua can be fulfilling, since I’m constantly distressed about the perfect summer location and complete and utter lack of time. So I’ll be the one belly-up on the dock at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning, because the Perseids are so summer.

Anyway, I went for the interview Monday. I sweated through the interview (a suit jacket + 90 degrees in midtown Manhattan does NOT make for a comfortable time), and I figured I was still in OK shape, despite my apologies for the breathless demeanor. Then they said they were considering another person. All hope was lost.

It’s remarkable. I immediately thought I was drab, thought I could have done much better, thought I spent $300 on a plane ticket for nothing, thought this other consideration was from a big-name school with high grades and an affinity for romance novels. I left the interview and couldn’t even shop happily because I was so disheartened. They said I’d hear by Wednesday if they made a decision.

So here it was, Wednesday afternoon, I didn’t leave my cell phone alone all day, and it was about 3:00 before I gave up on hearing back.

And then a blur. My office phone rang, it’s Tim from Dorchester, he’d like to offer me the job, I’m shaking like a madwoman and say yes, and I’m back to photocopying theater articles from the season.

So..phew.

Now I begin the strenuous task of locating a New York apartment. At least I was able to look at my “Save the date” today and not have much of a heart attack.

On another note, my writing has been boring the hell out of me recently. I guess this happens when I run out of stimuli.

Just a soul whose intentions are good.

In 24 hours I’ll hop a car ride to Buffalo, a plane to New York City, a cab to Astoria, have dinner and a drink with friends, sleep, awaken to a 45-minute train ride to Herald Square, walk to E 35th & Madison, meet with a potential employer, leave happy or completely disheartened, go shopping (which will be therapeutic or celebratory, depending on said meeting), meet an old friend for lunch, train back to Astoria, gather my things, bus back to LaGuardia, fly back to Buffalo, drive back to Chautauqua and pass out.

So, yeah. I think I have my work cut out for me. Not to mention I’d be a great subject for a children’s book highlighting modes of transportation. I’m sure I could try to fit a boat ride in somewhere.

Of course, I’m completely stressed. Not about the interview. I have total control over that. But the car ride? The flight? How many things can possibly go wrong that I can’t control? These are the throughts running through my head the past two days as I check and re-check the weather, flight times, train routes, engine oil, etc. I thank my mother for the incredible sense of worry she’s blessed me with, and I thank my father and sister for telling us we’re crazy.

I wish I could learn to relax. Yesterday my legs were like Jell-O, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart slams every time I think about traveling alone.

And on top of everything, I saw a “save the date” in the new BonAlumnus for the Hellinger Awards. And I have to make a speech in front of incredibly successful people for an award I still can’t understand receiving. So it was mini-heart attack central all over again.

Maybe a gin and The New Yorker just before I board will make me feel a little better. Sigh. Wish me luck.

Ain’t much, it’s only everything.

I understand it’s that time in my life–and the lives of my colleagues–that we’re spazzing out, desperately panicking over the impending fall. In a time of year overflowing with back-to-school shopping, first graders wearing index cards with their names and addresses pinned to their shirts and parents warily examining 60-year-old dorm rooms, for the first time, we’re not involved.

Wait, I take that back. I’m not involved. Many of my dearest, closest friends are heading back to Bonaventure.

It makes me wonder if it’s because the Bona Bubble is so conducive to keeping people comfortable that they’re scurrying back to safety rather than exploring the unknown.

I think the call from Jason was the worst.

no subject at all, really.

I read this great line in “The Poisonwood Bible” this morning that I was all prepared to come and regurgitate here, but I forgot the book. Ho hum.

My family visit was phenomenal. They loved the play, and my mom, daughter of the 70s she is, recognized Stuart from “Love American Style” immediately. Silly silly.

Oh, they forgot my fishing rod. I think it’s about time I take matters into my own hands — literally – and just start snagging pike like a bear would a salmon. Of course, it would be much easier if there existed 1. a current and 2. a fervent pike spawn in Chautauqua Lake. Again, ho hum.

In ridiculously glamorous news, I had a job interview this morning (he called 15 minutes late; i was pacing and sweating like a schoolboy…haha “i desperately want to make love to a school boy.” stream of consciousness, sorry.) and i think it went brilliantly. So much so, in fact, that I have a flight booked and ready to take me to Madison Avenue in a few weeks to meet him in person and see the office for myself. I’ll be spending the time until then working diligently to learn Chicago Style.

Thanks to a new photo spread in National Geographic, an excursion to Bolivia is now on my bucket list. Right below seeing the Northern Lights and right above reading Finnegan’s Wake.

Tomorrow Jenny turns 23. And then Matt Howard turns 23 on Saturday. What is with this aging thing? It’s such crap. I’d desperately like to remain comfortably in Clare College and under my parents’ health insurance for quite some time. Eh, actually, I take that back. I just don’t want to be penniless. What an odd word. Anyway, I bought them both books. Tremendous shock there.

“There’s always somebody who is paid too much and taxed too little – and it’s always somebody else.” – Cullen Hightower

Eggs and baskets

Hi, I’m Tanya, and I have my first job interview Tuesday morning.

 

eeeeeeeeee!