I HAVE A JOB!
I went in for an interview last Friday at the Post Office, the Friday after I met fellytone_k8, nundu_art, jo_blogs and siftingseaspray and Grace has Victory, all from The Sugar Quill, the HP discussion board I frequent. I haved to admit, I didn't feel positive about this interview. In fact, when it comes to interviews, I'd have to say that I'm jaded with the whole process. I've had quite a few over the past year and a half, as those of you who've read this journal will know, and none of them got me anywhere, even those ones which I felt went really well. It was always the same thing: we've found someone better qualified/more experienced, even the one at Old Sarum, the first interview where I really felt that I nailed the job. I got the traineeship in Luxembourg without an interview, without even a translation test. So I was not feeling particularly chirpy or go-getting. I'd made a card to show the interviewer, but it was amateurish, glitter and stick on letters, not professional. I didn't even really dress up: a nice crinkled shirt, plus my dark blue velvety trousers that I got in Luxembourg.
Then I get to the bus stop and see Matthew. I have a long 'non-history' with Matthew, so I'll summarise. We went to the same primary school together, were in the same class because we're the same age, often got called up as 'examples' to the rest of the class, until his parents sent him to an all-boys school in town when we were about eight. After that, I didn't see him until we started getting the same bus to town to go to our separate schools. All of a sudden, Matthew was shy. He could barely look me in the face anymore. I was shy around him, too, the kind of shyness that paralyses you. I got better quicker than him, though, because I'm a girl. I could at least speak to him but he was still pretty awkward around me. Even after we'd both been to uni (he went to Oxford, because he's a clever git). I haven't seen him at the bus stop for ages because he learned to drive pretty quickly. Cut to Friday and he sees me and he actually takes his earphones out and starts talking to me. And we have a nice conversation. And he tells me what he's doing and I tell him what I'm doing. We both make jokes and we laugh at each other's jokes. I tell him that I'm not particularly hopeful about this interview and he tells me that I shouldn't worry, not with my personality (which is probably the first compliment he's ever paid me). And after the bus gets to town, we both walk to the Market Square and go our separate ways. And I wander off, thinking that was a wonderful conversation, and why does it have to happen when he's about to move up to London? Oh well. It's good to know he's finally moved out of adolescence.
So I get a phone call from the Post Office at 4.15, even though the interview isn't until 4.30, and I tell her that it's fine, I'll come over right away. At first it seems a bit awkward, but then we sit down and start talking and I can see that she's a bit more open to me. Then, all of a sudden, she asks if I can start next week, and I say yes, and I'm hired. Just like that. I walk out of the Post Office and wish I could tell Matthew that I got the job, but I tell my mum, which is the next best thing.
I was meant to start work on Wednesday, but I get phoned today at ten to nine in the morning (when the PO opens at nine) asking if I can come in today. If it wasn't my very first day, I might have said yes, but I can't get there within ten minutes, even if I could drive. If she'd phoned me even half an hour earlier, it might have been doable, but not at ten to nine, so I said no. I'm still going in on Wednesday to give them my financial information and be shown around. Then I start work properly on Friday.
Today, I get a call in the afternoon from Language Recruitment Services (LRS) about the possibility of a translation project manager vacancy in Witney, which is a small town two miles west of Oxford (with lovely Georgian buildings). So I say yes, of course. We'll see how that pans out.
Lots of love to my f-list, hope you're all doing well.
Title: Dancing on the Edge (sequel to Craving)
Theme: Reaction (OTP: Makoto/Nephrite)
Version: Manga (Crystal Tokyo)
I got something to say, you know,
But nothing comes;
Yes, I know what you think of me,
You never shut up...
— Tori Amos, Silent All These Years
"It had to be him, didn't it? You couldn't just dance with anyone you had to dance with him."
"He asked me-!"
"Since when do you accept an invitation to dance from that man?!"
They drew back, eyeing each other, looking for weaknesses. Makoto could feel the blood thrumming in her veins, that latent desire for self-destruction pushing to the surface. Make him angry, make him lash out at you, give yourself an excuse to end this and then you can go to HIM, it whispered. Her traitorous body shuddered inside at the thought of going to the other man, filled with memories of hard muscle, warm skin, rum-laced lips.
"Nobody else was asking me," she said, deliberately making her voice cool. "Certainly not you. It was nice to be asked for once. And he was a good dancer, too." Her voice warmed but that was not calculated, that was automatic: she thought of being on the dancefloor, remembered how safe she'd felt in his arms, sure that he would not let her get hurt.
"Oh, and how would you know?" His voice was sharp with suspicion. "Danced before, have you?"
She lifted her chin, daring him to continue that train of thought. "Yes, but not in this lifetime."
"Yes, that's right, throw the previous history at me, make me feel an outsider, like I don't feel it enough already!"
She blinked, wrong-footed. "What...?"
"You never tell me about that time! Ever! But him, oh, he's automatically admitted to the favoured circle, isn't he? Because he was there, he remembers."
"He remembers being a traitor and shedding my blood!" she yelled.
"But you've forgiven him! You wouldn't dance with him if you hadn't forgiven him! And where did you go afterwards?" He stepped forward, eyes glittering. "Find a quiet spot, did you? Do some dancing on your back?"
Makoto didn't realise what she was doing until she found herself standing over Susumu, her fist tingling, he staring up at her with blood trickling from his nose. She lowered her fist and stepped back, ignoring the humming in her ears, the singing of her blood.
"I'm going out," she heard herself say, voice too calm. "You'd better be gone when I get back."
She could hear Susumu staggering to his feet as she walked down the hall to the front door. But she should have known he wouldn't let her leave with the last word.
"You made me do it!" he yelled as she slipped her shoes on. "You've been pushing me away ever since he came back! Is that where you're going, Makoto? To him?"
"Where I go and who I see is no longer your concern," she said and managed to close the door before the tears came.