2006-04-09

Round 2, Part 1 @ 11:14 p.m.

Oy. I hate pressure. I find that which will make me even more depressed should this fall through is ironically what makes me feel better. Like saying to my eldest furbutt

�if this goes through, you are so gonna be hating me within the next 30 days.�

Man Unit: Why�s that?

Me: Because he�s going to be crammed into a carrier for 700+ miles.

MU: Oh. Ooo. Ouch.

Then I remind him that all four whizbangs will be trapped in their respective carriers (including the canine) for the entire trip, save the stops for Fraulein Freak. Crackhead will yowl like he�s dying for the first few hours until he passes out, exhausted. Puppy can�t be fed or watered at least 12 hours prior or he�ll foul his carrier, so they�ll all think they�re starving to death. Zen�s never been in a carrier for more than fifteen-twenty minutes at a stretch and Freak�s never been in one for transport. Ten+ hours surrounded by 3 screaming cats and a dog who think they�re all being tortured to death. The only thing that makes them better than kids is that they�ll be in crates so they can�t poke each other. It�s like the only thing that makes me feel truly stress-free right now is focusing on the hopefully impending details. Which I have to always preface with the caveat of �if� not �when�. Kinda puts a damper on it, know what I mean?

I�m just obsessing. It goes with the territory here. MU swears I�m not happy unless I have something to obsess about. I would add the quantifier ��occasionally.�

I should be grateful and ecstatic that I�ve even gotten this far this fast. I was in the CDC�s active queue last spring-summer for four months before I knew the outcome. I applied in April and it took HR until July to process the 32 apps and lob 9 of us forward as candidates to the actual hiring program (yet another case of the people actually doing the hiring cut out of the process). A phone interview and then the �no, thanks� a month later. Then a site visit in January was attended by my inside contact who tells me she was heartbroken that they couldn�t hire me because they found out that one of the 2 positions had to be an internal candidate. Oh, yes. That helps. Tell me I�m qualified but screwed out of the job because of politics. Yes, that definitely made me feel better. Ugh. Anywhat, this speedy little timeline I�m on now means that I have to pack that much obsessing into a very tiny timeframe. I feel schizophrenic. One day I�m kicking out work product like there no tomorrow, the next I can�t bring myself to do more than surf and fight off the urge to nap (that was Thursday and Friday of this past week).

But you see I have this little issue called �defensive pessimism�. Go look it up. I�ll wait right here.

Now the fun part of that is you always want a defensive pessimist on your team, because they�ll be the ones that will plan for every little pitfall that no one ever thinks will happen and when it does, they alone will be ready for it. The un-fun part is that we can never just go on faith that things will be okay and relax. �How can they really believe that I�m that good?� �I don�t deserve this!� Etc., etc. The reason it�s DP and not just simple self-esteem issues is that somewhere inside, I do believe those things, it�s just that I refuse to allow myself to celebrate until I have my shit in hand, yanno? I�ve been screwed too often. Never second-guess the judges. So, call me a stick-in-the-mud. Roll thine eyes to the heavens. Smack me upside the head, whatever. I just have to stay �on� and on the edge until every last avenue has been traversed, ever nook and cranny explored before I touch down and have the housewarming party.

So instead I think of how in the hell I�m gonna get Freak�s giant crate into my tiny car. With three cats. Or if I�m gonna have to go the Penske route. Then I worry about losing MU (towing his car; him driving mine) as we make our way down because his sense of direction is for shit and if we get separated, things could get ugly. Last time we went down to see my mom, we got turned around outside of Detroit trying to get on I-75 and all hell broke loose because he has no idea how to ride shotgun. He�s never had to. As kids, my dad would hand us the Allstate map when we�d go on vacation and say �tell me where to go�. Thank god for bright orange trip detail.

And there I go again, off on my happy little dream tangent. Back to earth, feet on the ground. Back to earth, feet on the ground.