Tuesday, December 21, 2004

didn't get the job

I was trying for, and got the news from someone other than the person who should have called with it. Was feeling pretty wretched but a friend came over with papaya juice and made me talk about other things until I'd cheered up a little.

The timing sucks, and I'm clearly going to have to buckle down and find some other lucrative writing work, before I go insane catering and set a guest on fire or something. Oh, and I also closed my fingers in the door--the heavy fire door--to the apartment, and one of my fingernails is half-blue and the fingers all hurt. I ended up having to reschedule an interview by three hours because I was too knocked out by the pain to think about asking questions or trying to use my mysterious little recorder; once I did get there, I miscalculated the distance between the lip of my glass and the lip of my mouth and ended up with ice water in my lap. Fortunately my interviewee was someone I know, a guy who isn't easily fazed by a sodden, throbbing-with-pain journalist.

I would have chosen a less crappy day for myself, given the chance. But, I have some nail polish almost the color of the bruise; maybe I'll just paint all my nails and pretend blue was my intent. Lesson in there somewhere.