Applying for jobs feels a bit like a betrayal. Disney has been good to me, and I thank them for four years of putting up with my insane school schedule; especially the semester I had to work mostly weekends and couldn’t talk to anyone in real life because I was always gone. That was a real pain. I’m applying for jobs anyway, though.
So, here I am. I’ve updated my resume. I’ve penned several cover letters. I have visions in my head of working at the college in my home town, just a few miles down the road from my house. I could buy a teal bike, a beach cruiser, with a giant wicker basket on the front and a bell. I could ride it to work every morning. My skirt would drape artfully over the pedals without danger of getting caught in the spokes.
I could be home at 5:15 every night. I would take off my fancy dress, put on my jeans, and make dinner barefoot in the kitchen. Brian could come home every night to a clean house (okay, cleaner house). I could wake up at 6:00am and write the morning away, cup of earl gray by my elbow. It would be so peaceful.
Why is it that things never end up exactly as we picture them? I’ve applied for the job, I’m crossing my fingers they call me. Now is just the waiting and the dreaming.