Speaking of carrying around heavy objects, I found out I have an interview this Wednesday for the school district. Ever since the interview was scheduled, I have felt that my chest is clogged with tar balls and I am weighted down by my own performance anxiety--perhaps as heavy as the stuff Snark's been putting on top of the car. As a remedy, I have been gulping up a young adult novel that I found at a garage sale (Inkheart) to ease the stress. I read it once before, but that's part of the comfort in reading it, I suppose, like watching a well-loved film because you know what you're going to get. Tomorrow is the day for preparing myself for the interview; today I plan to still be in denial about the whole ordeal.

In case my lack of enthusiasm is confusing: I am glad to finally have made it a step further with the job application process; I just don't trust my anxiety not to get in the way and mess everything up for me. And please don't even mention positive thinking to me! That concept makes me feel even worse. I prefer to acknowledge that I could realistically be as stumbly, tongue-tied as I feel, because then I can only be surprisingly pleased if I do better, and at least I won't be as let down by myself if I conceived of it as going badly in the first place. Hope and expectation are terrible burdens.