I HAVE A JOB.
Yes, folks, that's right: the firm with which I interviewed a couple of weeks ago called today and informed me that they'd like to hire me. I go in to the office Thursday to discuss salary and the day I'll begin and all that mumbo-jumbo.
I've been doing internal cartwheels since about 5:00 when the younger interviewer (who still isn't exactly young) called to apologize for not calling me sooner and asked me to come in. So Thursday morning at 10:00, I will be at their offices to talk about the aforementioned details.
Of course, now I want desperately to move back to my old neighborhood. I've been indulging in apartment looking via Internet since just after I returned from a victory dinner at Patrizio's (almond-crusted trout, mmmmm). Part of me says, "You'll have a job, you can tough it out for the next 14 months until you go to grad school." Still, another part of me is screaming, "Run! Run for your life! And this time get an apartment with a washer-dryer hookup!" I'm conflicted, and so am keeping my apartment search low-key and not calling apartment complexes (yet).
In true Ms. StrainedConsciousness fashion, I have figured out what I will wear to the "detail discussion" (almost: not 100% on the shoes) and will drop off some new work-ready pants at the tailor's tomorrow to have the pocket openings permanently sewn shut and the excess pocket material removed. You know, to prevent unsightly pocket-lines.
Everyone does that, right?