wildcat

Joy would be proud of me. I'm listening to Le Tigre.

At around eight this morning I was stumbling around Downtown Victoria in a pinstriped suit with music firing into my ears from the iPod to encourage my brain to be alert and functional. With only half an hour of sleep last night and an ambiguously sore throat, I was - possibly - underprepared to sit down and be interviewed for two of the internal job postings today. I'd only had enough sleep to dump myself into a hazy chase dream with cyborgs and genetic analysis machines before the alarm went off. I ate a croissant and drank a hot chocolate, then loaded myself onto a bus out to Colwood. My only companions were a Doctorow book of short stories, some comics, and the Fear. The Fear sat there the entire time and pointed out I hadn't shaved, slept, or really eaten anything of consequence. The Fear sat there and reminded me that my suit's a little tight and I'm breaking out right now and I'm stupid, mind-bogglingly stupid. I read comics and listened to the New Pornographers. The Fear is best ignored in these situations.

I wasn't "tired" in that traditional, sleepy, misty-eyed and heavy-footed way. I came up with a story idea and was more like "wired," which leads to concerns over incomprehensible interview answers, surely, only I made it out there and had the interview and answered all the questions with confidence, fully, although I almost missed the point with one of them but recovered almost immediately. I have absolutely no idea if I spoke enough or how things are going to turn out, but there I was, heading back into town to buy comic books and sushi for lunch. I've got a very good shot, I think, but I'm at that point where the bullet's left the gun and it's all a matter of trajectories, and no unexpected obstacles moving in between it and the target. We're down to probabilities. There might be an element of sleep deprivation at play here, but I've been possessed of zen consciousness since I finished the interview. Although I keep losing vowels...

Should have done laundry afterward, but I think passing out in a laundromat wouldn't be a good idea and the whole concept of laundry? Feels completely beyond me. You'd think, with super-zen consciousness I'd be all about the laundry, the basic material aspects of living,