Out of Sorts

It is hot here. Humid and oppressively warm. In December. And as so many of my neighbors and colleagues bask in the heat (though it is gloomy), I frown darkly and wonder why it can't get cold again. Dammit.

I am nervous about the upcoming interview. I want out of here and back to a more northern state that has winter. People at work are wearing on my nerves, asking for help I don't particularly want to give, making demands that wouldn't have bothered me before but leave me scowling now. The time has come to take my leave of this place as I've already become emotionally distant. But I have one opportunity in the works.

I applied to a single undergraduate institution. Two grad schools, though there was never any question of where I'd pick. I applied far and wide for post-docs and wasn't certain that any was just right. I want this next job to be right. For it to be straightforward and glowing with promise. So I'm placing all my eggs in this basket and will, quite frankly, be crushed if it doesn't work out. It doesn't have to be faculty - it just has to be something.

I've been practicing my talk which leads to a seemingly unending shuffling of slides. I like the transitions to be perfect - for the flow to make absolute sense so there's no staring at slides and saying, "Now for something completely different!" So I tweak and move figures and frown over the text I've drafted to place in the notes section of my PowerPoint file. And I continue to freak out. I'm sleeping far too much and feeling much more tired than normal. My patience is thin and my desire to avoid people is nearly overwhelming.

So I'm going to huff and sigh over the heat and my mood and this interview that must go well. At least it'll all be over soon. A cold front will push in. I'll stop being evil. And I'll talk to people and give my seminar and see what they think.