Jitters.

I have an interview tomorrow for a marketing position that I want. Like really want. I know, I know, all of ye faithful Stay-At-Home-Moms (I refuse to use the insipid "SAHM" abbreviation), I'm a horrible person for jumping ship, and it's a joy to be a mother and blah blah blah blah blah... but fuck, ya'll, I want a career. It's something I never got the chance to get around to, since nine days after graduating college, I so very gracefully managed to get drunk out of my mind, along with my husband, and created the little zygote swimming in hard liquor that we now know as The Punky.

It's a phone interview, which means I get to run and hide in a corner of the house, far away from potentially angry baby, while I stick her in the Octagon UFC practice ring play gym, turn on Winnie the Pooh and drop a few toys in and pray for the best. It also means that I plan to drink a beer while I'm interviewing, and probably not wear a bra, because if it's anything like my college term papers, that's when my best material comes out. And I don't mean my floppy, pathetic, used-up funbags.

I'll say it now without being too arrogant -- I interview like a champ. I'm funny, I can carry conversation, and I know how to answer interview questions with thoughtful, intelligent answers. (And the answers I don't know, I've been impeccably coached by friends with "real jobs.") But without fail, the night before an interview, I totally break down and fill with self-loathing and doubt. My design portfolio could be stronger. I haven't had any solid clips in over two years. I don't have exact numbers for events I've planned. Oh my God, did I even go to college? WHO AM I?!?!?!

I'll be fine. I'm sure what's meant to happen will happen. But in the meantime, I'm going to sit here and question my existence in pure Matrix style, and keep you posted.