So I had an interview on friday afternoon with an upstart company in need of a receptionist. I went into the interview thinking I would be lucky to get the job. They are located right in the center of downtown Tallahassee and their office was very stylish. The woman who interviewed me seemed very nice and I felt like I had the position when I was walking out when the owner of the company requested to see me. I spoke with him for a few moments; he seemed like a very reasonable gentlemen and we discussed some key things about the buisness when almost out of the blue he offered me a 'sales' position because of my experience. I graciously expressed my interested and hopefully I will recieve a call on monday. As I walked out my mind was flooded with visions of advancement; suits and briefcases, ties and eggshell buisness cards. I always hear that the number one thing for a salesmen to do to be successful in the distribution of his product is to believe in what he is selling, and from what I saw I felt that the product is good.
It has been cold and raining all day and I've been trying to keep the doors open to listen to it. I had a crazy weekend, almost surreal. Saturday night I was playing bass with a motley few, one on drums and another on bongos. My mind was so clouded and my fingers so hardend and numb from the goading of my hands to continue playing. Four and five am ticked past and people started to fall off like moths flying to close to flames. In Tally you can just drive from party to party, people don't seem to care who you are. "The cups are over there man, oh, yeah i'm john doe," was the most common greeting. Endless supplies of inebrients to drown the pains of stress and stupidity that plauge my life.
My friends tell me lately that all I do is stand along the wall and watch, almost unwilling to partake in anything but gazing at the mob. I feel old and tired, like i've rebirthed and changed myself too many times and I can't do it anymore; i'm stuck with who I am now and I might have to spend my life not liking it. Are the decisions which I make in error that which designate my disposition, even if I acknowlege them as personal failure? The mistakes seem unescapable as I continue to commit them.
And it is still raining outside, my eyelids still remember the perpetual heavy feeling of the never ending previous nights. Everyones excuses and uneasiness echo in my ears.