The Time Is Upon Us

My interview with Regent’s College London is tomorrow morning.

I’m supposed to be folding my laundry but it’s all I can think about. And my body is doing that stupid thing where my digestive system doesn’t actually shut down in a fight or flight situation. It goes into hyperdrive instead. It wants everything inside it to be out, one way or another.

I’m supposed to be folding my laundry but it’s all I can think about. I wish I knew what to do to prepare... I can look over the documents they sent me. (again.) That will be good. I guess I can write down any questions I have, interviewers generally ask if I have any, and I can never think of any on the spot.

I’m so nervous. I’m freezing and my stomach hurts and everything on my insides wants to be on my outsides.

I need to remember not to giggle. Or fidget. Or talk too much. I always talk too much. I always try to answer the question before they’ve asked it. Maybe that’s my problem, why I can never find a job. I need to be more professional.

I wish I was doing the interview in person. The fact that it’s via telephone is nerve-wracking. I want to see who I’m talking to. I want to know who they are, what they look like.

Oh my stomach hurts. I don’t want to be sick, it’s such a waste of time and energy. No wonder I was so thin last winter.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. Maybe so if I actually do get in, I’ll have something to talk about, something to blog about, a reason to be inspired.

I need to find another job. I’ve been looking. I would love to work in the mall, or someplace where I can do something, unlike what I do now. Too much sitting around.

I haven’t told very many people about my application. I’ve told even less about the actual interview. I’m so afraid I’ll jinx it somehow. I’m afraid I’ll let them down. If I tell everyone and then I don’t get in, it’s just that many more people I have to tell, “I didn’t make it.” I don’t want to have to tell them that.

I’ve been meaning to write a poem. Something about stars. I don’t know what I would write about though.

Why is it so cold in my room? Well, at least it’s not snowing yet.

I feel like everything I’ve ever wanted is riding on this interview tomorrow. I want nothing, nothing more than to move to London, to have a reason to. And I’m terrified about what will happen to me if I don’t. What will become of me if I don’t make it? I wish I could talk myself out of putting my every last hope on this.

I’ll do some yoga tonight, and tomorrow morning I’ll have dad give me a blessing. And I’ll pray. And I’ll read through the documents, get as much information as I can. That’s what I can do.