Friday, March 03, 2006

noodle paint

Alright, the interview is over and done, and I’d like to start off by saying I probably didn’t get the job. I’m not bitter or anything, the interview didn’t exactly go well. It started with them asking me as a question, not an offer, if I wanted the job, to which I shrugged and said “I wouldn’t mind it.” This led to me spending the rest of the interview thinking about how I didn’t really want this job, or my current job, or any other foreseeable occupation anytime in the near future. When they asked me what one of my weaknesses was I essentially said I have authority issues. Good one.

The worst part was when they told me there had been a marked improvement in my work over the last week. You know, since I started dressing in more than a t-shirt and khakis. I mentally started banging my head against the desk when they said it.
Later on during the night I went up to one of my bosses and told her that the only things that had changed over the last week were my clothes. She replied that she’d noticed other things as well and mentioned that she saw me helping another department the other day when they were busy. I repeated that I’d been doing the same thing I always do. She said something else but I think I’d stopped listening because I was bored and in my head I just kept going doo doo doo doo-doo doo-doo bullshit, doo doo doo doo-doo doo-doo-doo.

I have this problem where I live way too much in my head and not nearly enough in that other world where I have to eat and sleep and actually talk to other people and it’s not a problem I’m going to fix by waking up at three in the afternoon everyday, working at a monotonous office job, then going home and staying up all night. By myself.
It’s going to turn me into a twitchy agoraphobic pile of boringness and my skin will go all white from lack of sun and my eyes will get really big, or maybe they’ll disappear altogether like those fish who live deep inside underwater caves. I’ll probably forget how to talk and rely solely on the clackety clack or zeros and ones to keep me going. Except I won’t be able to read the screen with non-existent cavefish-man eyes. Maybe I’ll just sit there and tap out morse code/block rockin’ beats on a rusty can of paint until my hands fall off or I get lockjaw.

Matty Good tickets are in the mail and I'm hoping Yeah Yeah Yeahs tickets may also find their way into my pocket if I can convince anyone else to come along.