How I think (and don't think) during an interview.

Interviews are crazy scary. People say they get easier with time, and I wonder if that is because we accrue more skills, or better ways to make ourselves look a whole lot better than the inner stability regarding our own judgment of self-worth. Wow. That sentence is dense, and I mean that in two meanings:  being heavy and filled with implications, and being dumb. I'm not even sure it made sense with all the scribing of saturated fetid matter. Sigh. This is exactly the kind of scramble that happens in my mind when they ask a question like:  "Can you provide an example of when you overcame a difficulty?"
In my mind I quickly generate:  "Oh yes! One time I talked to-- errr mimed to a man-- who indicated (yes that indication took some time), that he was both deaf and mute. Instead of smiling and waving him away, I showed him images of how to properly clean his boat (I was an inspector you see), and although I jabbered in vain-- but perhaps he could read lips?-- I got through everything and waved goodbye. I smiled and he smiled too."
Now, instead of saying this, this informal poorly chosen example that for some annoying reason aways pops in my head for pretty much every response to any question, I come up with (read with a British accent because I'd like to believe the dumb wishfully sophisticated asshole that is talking has a nasaly accent):
"Well there was one instance when I came across a fellow who was but both deaf and mute. I approached the fine gentleman only to discover his ailment and the controversy it posed. But alas, I had a task, a responsibility to talk to all boaters, and strongly following suit. I began a hybrid conversation based on mutual respect and patience. He left with more knowledge regarding aquatic invasive species laws, and I left knowing that if a challenge forms before me, I can triumph with a smile on my face."

After this monologue is applied to every other word of my first response to create a laid-back and British dung-hole conversation, I usually just sit there and smile. I'll try to wipe the sweat off my palm before I shake my interviewers hand goodbye, but its never successful. Sometimes I go home and take notes on the interview. Its often good for a laugh that leaves me humiliated. Soooo, yeah. I'm sick of trying to sound better than I am because it makes it worse! The most successful people are legitimate. Legitimately stupid people have a realness that can be appreciated. The dumb people pretending to be smart are disliked. So come tomorrow, for I have an interview if you haven't guessed, I will be legitimately me (which is hopefully not stupid as my last statement has no doubt implied). I will increase my level of politeness. I will use eye contact I usually reserve for the bars, but my responses will be well thought out and spoken out of my mouth.

But still I'm nervous, but that means I'm doing something outside my comfort zone, which means I'm expanding my experiences--pushing myself, and that means I'm doing something right.

An insomniac's thoughts about summer

Laying up at night, having tempted an absent sleep with comfortable pajamas and a warm bed for the past two hours, I cant help but feel guilty about the passing of each day in winter. Yes, I intentionally specify "in winter." If I putz around searching the internet, watching the television or eating a snack in bed, I must clarify as to what season this occurs in so I can realize if I feel guilty or fulfilled.

You see the summer carries different expectations. The long days scream:  soak up too much sun since it is out so long, take it in and it will worship you and make you smile; entice a lover to share your happiness and laugh-- it is the responsible thing to do. "Putzing" around the house in summer is sexy. It often involves a stringy dress and the passing of air over an aloe-applied back. Its barefoot, sand sticking to feet is easily brushed off as you recall the day at the beach. Internet surfing consists of music playing off your laptop, the faint melody travelling down one story through the open window to your roommates chatting on the front porch. The snack you're eating in bed is an assortment of vegetables you got from the farmers market earlier that week. Instead of buying yourself a bouquet with your extra change as you are always tempted, you take a trip to the store and buy a block of cheddar cheese, a black-eyed susan gold that contrasts with the red cherry tomatoes; they pop in your mouth. You haven't bought milk in about a month because you haven't really gotten up in time for breakfast. Unlike winter, a heavy bowl of cereal doesn't tempt you. Your hair is still dirty from the river. There is sand between your toes and when you rest your head on your arm it smells like sunscreen, coconut, sweat, wind and sun. You fall into a sleep that fills the inside of your eyelids with the muted photograph of the sunset you took with a blink of an eye during the evening run. You sleep with one leg under the sheet, one sprawled above.

There is a breeze coming through the window, and again I stress that the passing of each summer day is only sad in that its over-- never how it is spent.

A day never ends with you sitting up against the headboard, willing your eyes to get heavy, hoping for this day to pass so tomorrow can be better.