Life's Quirks

The past week or so has been a real emotional rollercoaster. Now, I normally am a rollercoaster junkie... but I prefer the physical ones that require you to sit in a marginally comfortable seat and strap yourself in so the g-forces don't throw you into the lake. These emotional ones aren't nearly as fun.

I've always known that I pin way too much emphasis on individual events, especially when I'm in the midst of a depressive episode. I see those individual events completely out of proportion. I allowed a person whom I care about to have a little too much sway over my emotions and self-image (hence the previous post). I fired off an email on Saturday that was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek and sarcastic, but after sending it I realized it was just, well, bitchy. So on Sunday I fired off a gazillion apologies and heard nothing from this friend for several days.

Self esteem? At this point, it's in the toilet.

Wednesday was a good day. The first look at my email included a long-awaited response about my dissertation. My committee co-chair had forgotten that he'd received my paper and filed it, and he was going to read it. (I've only waited 2 months for this.) Then I had a phone interview for a position that, frankly, I'm not sure that I want, but it is not every day that you get to work on your interview skills. By the end of the interview, I felt great. It helped that they said more than once that I gave "a very good and very impressive interview." This in spite of me giving a Sarah Palin-esque answer to one question. (I don't remember the question or the answer, but I do remember thinking, "My God, I'm rambling like Sarah Palin right now" as I was answering it.)

After the interview, another check of my email showed that my co-chair had read my paper and wanted to talk about some edits. Thirty minutes with him on the phone, and I've changed a few commas and semi-colons, swapped a few words, rephrased a sentence or two, listened to him crack a few puns, and that's about all he has for me. Is the end of my dissertation drama in sight? I'm not putting that champagne on ice just yet, but I'm starting to think about how it will fit in the fridge amongst the Thanksgiving food. The rest of the day I use my new energy to tackle exciting pre-parental visit chores, like stripping the guest bed and washing sheets and blankets.

Thursday morning dawns. Well, a little late for me; somehow I managed to sleep blissfully and solidly until 10:30. It probably helps that I turn the ringer of my phone off at night, since no matter how I program my "smartphone" it insists on downloading my email even when it isn't supposed to and then tells me about it. And in spite of my sleep, I wake up with a sore throat, fever, and aches. Definitely a day for the pajamas, all day.

Bright spot number 1 arises. My mother has decided that her and Dad are flying me home for Christmas. I had been depressed about spending Christmas alone and couldn't really afford the airfare. You know, that whole "underemployed" thing. So now I am flying home for Christmas, although I will return to my place on a red-eye. I'll celebrate the New Year in the San Francisco airport.

Maybe they'll give us booze on the plane.

Whilst laying on the couch, oscillating between cold and hot as only a fever can do, I thought about other things causing anxiety in my life. I pondered the delay in my other "successful" interview and wondered if it was a bad sign that I hadn't gotten a call yet. After all, they want to make an offer before the first of the year, and there are only so many days to bring in candidates with the holidays before the end of 2008. I worry about my friendship that I think is in trouble. I then get over my anxieties about the friendship issues and give him a call.

No answer. Leave message.

A couple hours later he calls back, which is somewhat surprising since he's not big on checking his messages. He's not mad. There's the first yay! In fact, my apologies were unnecessary because he didn't find the original email bitchy. Yay number 2. We spend a little time catching up, and during the conversation yay number 3 creeps in. He told me he'd been called by the chair of the search committee -- the "other successful interview" -- following up on the reference he gave. They're still looking at me. Yay!

I'm still achy, although I fed myself some of my homemade French onion soup. It's not that late, but I think my bed is calling me. The cats agree. And I think the rollercoaster is approaching the station.

At least, I hope so.

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