At least my imagination is uncompromised.

November 13, 2008

I mailed my application materials for a big-girl academic job today.  The first ever.  I have popped my job-search cherry.  Or does that not officially happen until after said job’s contact person calls/writes and tells me that while they think I’m, honestly, a super person, that we should just be friends?

Whatever, it’s done.  My CV is in good shape, my cover letter is pretty good, and can be used as a boilerplate for the future.  As I was heading to the P.O. to weigh and mail it, I thought about all the superstitious junk I might do to ensure it gets there, is read and recognized as PURE GENIUS, and gets me the interview, and then, of course, the job.  Cross fingers, don’t step on any cracks, pray to Flying Spaghetti Monster, whatever.

Of course, since I’m sick as fuck with a sinus infection and the blinding headache that comes with it, I just schlumped in, paid, and schlumped out again. 

I’ve done what I can, and statistically speaking, I’m a fool to hope for anything other than stony silence.  I need to turn back to the diss now, but my throbbing head and inability to breathe through my nose has me distracted.  And I can’t recall if I’m supposed to feed a cold and starve a fever, or the other way ’round.  I’m insanely hungry, but I can’t really taste much, so whatever. 

In the same sort of dream where I get this rad job, Robot Boy gets home in 5 minutes and announces “Are you hungry?  I brought Thai!”  Also statistically impossible, and just as nice to contemplate.


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