I was a mixture of excited and nervous about the interview tomorrow. I think they call it nervous excitement. Or excita nervosa, that's the scientific term. I really had no idea what to wear, I mean formal or casual? Or semi-formal? What's the difference between semi-formal and semi-casual, anyway? I said to Mary, what should I wear? What color, even? She said yellow. I said no, I'm not a car, and besides, I have no yellow shirts, mostly orange, and a couple whites. Plus the refurbished prisoner outfit. Mary said I should buy a yellow shirt, it worked for her.
I started talking to her about my interview tomorrow, and thinking what questions they might ask me, and how I could be prepared. I had, of course, forgot that Mary is a psychologist. She said that I need to tell myself that I am calm before the interview, and I will be. But I wasn't so convinced. I told myself I could fly when I was eight, but the ambulance department disagreed. Also, when I was fourteen, I told myself that I could spot weld. Mostly the exhaust of Dad's car and the garage door. But working from home isn't too bad.
I'm thinking if this job falls through, I could hook Mary up with a newspaper column, like Dear Abby, but it would be Dear Mary. Or perhaps Oh Dear, Mary. People seem to like advice when it's from an unqualified stranger. But when I think of it, there was this time I was in the city and this salesman told he could show me a way to get back the hours in my day. Well, it definitely convinced me, because I've still yet to get back those hours from him.
I've settled on wearing an orange shirt and jeans. For something different.