Deity

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When you are a night away from a moment that could change your life, ironically sleep wasn't coming. Reading almost worked or so I thought. My eyes would close, and my mind would drift; then reality would slam back in. I rolled over and checked the clock of my phone, 10:09. At least it wasn't too late yet. I could still get six hours' sleep tops if I could just calm and empty my mind. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow my active heart. I relaxed my eyelids and tried to think of nothing. I saw something in TikTok, a 2-minute technique to sleep. But alas, tomorrow's interview invaded again.

The interview was just too damned scary. I really wanted the job. My career was in a holding pattern, looping infinitely with the same routine every damn day. How I ended up as an employee for a hardware chain is still a mystery to me. I blame my ordinary status in life. The never-ending demands of an adult life frightened me into taking the first thing with a paycheck. For 5 years I have trudged through wrenches, pliers and plywood trying to do battle with my monthly bills. I was getting nowhere because there was nowhere to go. Every position above mine was filled with family members of Mr. Yang, the owner.

My true love was marketing. Matching people to products. Analyzing trends, identifying core customers and designing plans to make them love a product. I had a pile of loans and mountain of debts that proved I had the degree. I just didn't have that first real marketing job. The one where I could shine and follow my dreams up the ladder. If I didn't get some sleep soon, the interview could go poorly, and I dread for that to happen.

I rolled onto my back and reached blindly for my tablet. The glowing words appeared, and I tried to lose myself in the story. I read the same paragraph three times before I realized my mind was still centered on the interview. I had visions of an interviewer laughing at me who dared apply, of the questions I couldn't answer or of simply getting lost trying to find the office. More deep breaths. Smell the flowers, blow the candles. Inhale, exhale.

The alarm drilled into me at six. The last time I had glanced at the clock it was 4:29. I felt like crap. I waddled into the bathroom and blinded myself with light. In between the long blinks, I spotted the zombie girl in the mirror. Yep, dark circles surrounding veins of red lace. It was going to be an eyedrops and concealer morning. I dropped my pajamas to the floor, admonished myself for only exercising once in the last week and slithered into the shower.

I thought about lying down again after my shower. I was planning on being in the city an hour and a half early anyway. What's another thirty minutes of sleep going to hurt? I fought the temptation, knowing I would feel worse at the end of the nap. The interview was in a building I had never been to, and city parking was always a question. It wasn't worth the risk to be late for the interview.

My black skirt was tight. I hadn't planned on that little bit of joyous news. It was my only real interview suit. The one that said, 'organized and driven.' I should have tried it on a week ago. The dreaded mirror had warned me about my waist, and I chose to ignore the fact. Now I had to pay the price. I slipped the skirt back off and carefully tried to stretch the waist band. I went around the whole band pulling it in little sections, trying to extend it without misshaping it. An act of desperation to be sure. When I slipped it back on, I was surprised that my efforts weren't wasted. It was snug, but no longer tight. I practiced sitting down and it all stayed in place. If I didn't attempt any gymnastics, I would look respectable.