Tuesday, September 12, 2006

When Anxiety Attacks *UPDATED*

Third interview complete.

Trouble breathing.

Possible heart failure.

Money spent on a new suit: $135.00.

Time spent wearing new suit: 1.5 hours.

Knowledge that I have the job: none.

Confidence: 50/50.

And so it goes. Done with the interviewing process. My confidence is a bit shaken, as you can see. I don’t feel that the interview went as well as I pictured it in my head. I stammered over some things, I froze up once, and I was generally nervous. More nervous than usual. But I asked good questions that got conversation rolling.

I’m starting to think that they’re playing with me, like a cat with a semi-dead mouse.

I AM THE SEMI-DEAD MOUSE RIGHT NOW. At least that’s what I feel like.

Did I mention that I’m unemployed? That I quit my job? That I’m UNEMPLOYED?


Ok, now everyone give props to Greg, who ran his first marathon on Sunday. A whopping 26 miles and 385 yards. He finished in 3 hrs 47 min 2 sec. I would have been dead after the first mile.

Especially with these saggy mom boobs, which my mother pointed out to me yesterday. So we’re shopping for a suit, cause I wanted to dress to impress, and she says, “Do you have a good bra?”

Now by good, I’m wondering what “good” in terms of bras really are. I used to have quite a collection of bras, all with a bit of padding and some underwire. They were considerably smaller than the bras that I wear these days, which are neither pretty, nor lacy, nor padded (unless you count my Johnsons nursing pads) nor fun, nor underwire. But they’re easily accessible, so I can pull my boob out at the drop of a dime, and let my baby gnash her 7 teeth into my nipples, which she does frequently.

Question: Do all nursing moms have nipples that are quite as calloused as mine?

Anyway, after giving her a puzzled look, she said, “uh, they’re pretty saggy looking.” My mom doesn’t beat around the bush. She’s always truthful with me, and sometimes I take it to heart and sometimes I don’t, but yesterday I knew that what she was saying was true, and that I’ve been in denial for quite some time about my once perky breasts that no child had ever clawed or chewed upon before last November.

Most of my nursing bras are as old as Lyric, some are even older, and old bras tend to lose their staying power after some wear and tear have been put to them. Most of mine are definitely ready for the garbage, but something makes me keep wearing them. Nostagia maybe? Convenience? Poverty? Who knows?

So I gave in and let my mother buy a new bra for me, since it was she who pointed out that the girls have gone south for the winter. Today, as I sit and type this, I’m wearing a padded underwire bra that is considerably bigger than the size I wore pre-child, and I feel like the mom boulders are practically brushing my chin.


Now if that didn’t score me points during my interview, I don’t know what would.

Keep your fingers crossed that I hear something, anything, soon.

I GOT IT. Damn right.

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