I'm a wanton. (Maybe.)

Today's the last day in this, the week I've been told to expect the majority of interviews to be scheduled. And while I've landed a few interviews this week--THANK FUCKING GOD--I'd really be happy if the number of chances to completely fuck up and humiliate myself, but still stand a chance of ultimately getting a job this year, were a little higher. (Okay, a lot higher.) And so. The temptation to blow off everything and hang around waiting for the phone to ring or the emails to arrive is weighing pretty heavily.

But I've got a lot of work to do. Like, a lot of work to do. Grading, dissertation, job talk, interview prep. And experience shows that there's no way I'm getting any of this shit done unless I sequester myself away somewhere away from both email and phone contact. It's gotta be the coffeeshop around the corner with no wireless.

Obsessively-freaking-out-chest-pains-from-the-anxiety PGOAT says, "Fuck the dissertation! You've got email to check! Obsessively. Every two or three minutes at least. C'mon. Think of how good that, "You like me! You really like me!" high feels. You could be getting that fix right now."

Second-order PGOAT says, "What are you, an animal? Get your shit together. You don't stand a chance of getting any of these jobs unless you get this work done. Stop fucking around, asshole. Get your ass to the coffeeshop."

Yeah, I know. Get my ass to the coffeeshop.