Right after it happened, I heroicly emailed my ex-prospective employer and asked, very dignifiedly I think, if there is anything I can do to interview better in the future. Even though I thought the email had a distinctly business-like tenor, she responded with less help for the savvy working woman in me and more comfort to the pathetic sap who stayed up till three and woke again at 7:30 to think about being alone for the rest of her life.
"Don't worry!" she cooed. She is, after all, a preschool teacher. "You did fine! It was nothing you did wrong at all!" And "Good luck to you! You did great!" Smiley face, exclamation point, smiley face. Jesus, could she hear me weeping? But it was kind, and very generous of her to take the time to write to me at all.
Even though I would have been pissed as hell if she didn't.
But she did tell me something that will help. The individual they did hire, she said, has a minor in music and can wear two hats for the program. This sort of snapped me back to my senses. I have to start selling myself! (End boyfriend/lover analogy HERE.) I am great at music, as a general, preschool-level skill, and I guess my resume doesn't say so. I was a band freak in high school (this is one step beyond geek), and I led music at Girl Scout camp all the time. Why, when she asked me what I'd bring to the program, did I ramble on and on about how I think kids need more than the love of a teacher, and that individuals should be taught in individual ways? I never thought to say, "I am great at music, and would be comfortable singing with the kids." And now I will. So thank you, heart-break. You've taught me yet another lesson.
* * *
My Stages of Grief
1. Crying
2. Splurging
3. Hibernating
4. Eating Cereal in Bed (this constitutes an entire, separate stage, independent of #2)
5. Solitude or Running
6. Writing
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