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I got an email today asking if I wanted to interview and almost passed out from excitement (exaggeration) and then went to yoga at almost passed out from dehydration and exhaustion (literally). That’s actually the closest I’ve ever come to passing out, I think. Whoever told them that leaving the air conditioner on “low” was a good idea is a terrible, terrible human being. My gray shirt turned black by the end–I have never sweated so much, even while playing lacrosse in humid Houston.

I stopped during Triangle Three while everyone else went into some stuff I’ve never seen before and just waited while touching my toes to do the other side. They caught up so I did the other side, waited again when they started making pretzels out of their bodies, and then raised up to put my arms in the sky like everyone else.  All of a sudden I had a hard time hearing as the blood left my head and my breathing sped up. Apparently, I should have just gone into the child pose while waiting–both instructors told me that. It’s only been like three years since I’ve done this, sorry.

Thank god they had a cup and a faucet, otherwise chances are very good I would have passed out. I went back, did the child pose and then did some of the ab stuff they did. Now I’ll be sore for a week. You know what’d be really great to have in this neighborhood? A gym. Then instead of just eating more vegetables and sometimes doing push ups I could actually try to get back in shape.

Regarding the interview, I am thoroughly pleased someone is verifying what my mom has told me for a long time: I’m qualified and capable. Thanks, mom. But then again, I can’t help but be a little worried that I’ll go in tomorrow, have an awesome interview and then call again in two weeks, only to find out that the person I interviewed with has another job.

I guess I owe it to you, dear reader, to apologize for being completely cynical about cover letters. I only sent this cover letter in four days ago, so maybe they’re useful. Or something. It was also getting to a point where totally sweet live jazz and venting here were not going to keep my self-esteem above sub-par. So thanks for helping me keep alive so I can get emails, wreck my body and, more importantly, listen to awesome music.

Let’s meet back here tomorrow. Same time, same place. Vaya con los gatos, putas.


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