Have you ever felt like you entered a situation woefully unprepared?

Today was the day for my job interview. I can’t talk much about what happened there, since doing so can ruin my chances at becoming employed (they said not to talk about the hiring process,) but I can say that I arrived about ten minutes early, with two other guys in the room; two others arrived after I did, and that was it. There’s one position, and five of us, so right off the top I have a 20% chance of getting the job. Along the way, I found out one of the other candidates just graduated high school last year, and so he’s probably least likely to get the job, so maybe my chance went up to 25% — there’s still a lot of ground to cover.

As I interviewed, I found myself clawing at answers for the questions posed to me; why hadn’t I been more prepared for something like this? I wanted to just tell them I’m better at holding a job than I am at interviewing for them, but part of me wanted to think that they intentionally wanted me to be a little nervous and intimidated.

Right?

Then at the end they asked the dreaded question that they always ask: did I have any questions for them? I just smiled and shook my head slowly. I’d heard quite a bit about the job in a short amount of time. The benefits, the overview and expectations, the unforgiving environment. I know it’s right up my alley, but at this point I wonder: how bungly will those three other guys have to sound to come off worse than me?

The job is this pinnacle right now. It looks perfect. The starting date is just right, the skills I will learn are exactly what I want to learn, and the term of the prospective employment — for the rest of my working life — is fine by me. I want this job even more than I did when I walked into that hotel/waterpark this morning. However, I won’t know anything for 2-3 days, possibly a couple days more. If I don’t hear by the middle of next week, I suppose I can just start my search for better employment all over again.

I got home just after ten o’clock this morning, slightly annoyed that I had taken the entire day off; I had been told I’d be at the hotel all day. So I greeted the squirming pack of children in my living room, got a snack, got changed, finished mowing the massive lawn that had a few days ago proven too great a challenge for just a single charge of the lawnmower’s battery, and then decided to start working on either arranging or discarding the things left in my garage after it was vacated just over a week ago. The previous owner’s grandson and some assorted relatives had taken everything they wanted (almost) and left behind enough bric-a-brac (almost) for a small garage sale. Some of it was kind of neat: there’s an original GI Joe out there — sans nose — as well as a couple of old tricycles and a few wooden orange crates; most of it is rusty, old garage fare — nails, screws, tools, etc. I could live without all of it, to be honest. The catch is, the grandson is supposed to return at some time with the last key and the door remote, take some few last vaguely specified articles, and be done with it.

I, for one, am sick of waiting.

Getting into this garage has already proven to be a daunting task; for the second time today I found myself mentally and psychologically unprepared. Would it not be better if I could wave an arm and make all the flotsam and jetsam of the previous owner’s late husband’s mechanical wizardry just disappear? Why is this new-to-me garage next to our new-to-us house already laid out and crusted with garage stuff? I’d gladly keep the rakes and ladders if I could just advertise for some industrious group of elves to carry the rest off in the night. I guess this just isn’t the enchanted forest.

And so, after filling a single contractor-grade garbage bag with a good deal of obvious trash (because I’d hate to discard anything Mme. Ross would want to hold on to) I gave up in frustration. I went in and washed my hands — in more ways than one — and greeted a houseful of rugrats freshly arisen from nap time. I can be thankful that Mme. Ross is having a good day caring for four other children in addition to the Little Miss, because there’s a beautiful little army making this place lousy with cuteness and thank god they all like me now.

They got up, and I went down for a nap of my own. Mme. Ross let me sleep until 5pm, which is probably good for muscle growth; the soreness from yesterday’s workout has diminished, anyway. I’ve been trying to get more sleep lately, and I’ve put on about six pounds of lean muscle in the last month thanks to diet, exercise, and increased sleep. I was glad for the nap and kind of sad that I can’t get a few extra hours every day.

Sometimes we look forward to an odd day off, and sometimes there’s nothing to do with it. I think I got one of the latter today, and while I got a couple of things done, I’m not really sure it helped at all. I don’t know where I stand in the hiring process, and now I’m wondering if I’ll ever get to a place where blogging is easier.

We shall see, I suppose.