2001-12-31 :: 12:45 a.m.

dreams, rejection, a stabbing, and heart conditions

Soundtrack: The Sundays, Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic; The Sundays, Blind

I had a dream last Wednesday that I had another (that would be the sixth) interview with the firm in New York that I'd been waiting to hear from. I was staying at Columbia University's nonexistent hotel, and it seemed I'd overslept, but worse still, I couldn't remember when I was supposed to be in for my interview. At first I thought it was at 11AM, which was about half an hour away, but then I remembered that was fifth rounds. So was I already late? I was all the way uptown, how was I going to get myself downtown and where was I going to leave my stuff in the meantime? I assumed I could leave my bags where I'd checked in, but I couldn't find that area (was it in another building?). Bewildered, I pulled out my cell phone to dial my contact at the firm. First I couldn't remember the number, and when I tried to dial it the phone got enormous and unwieldy (it was about the size of an open videotape rental case). As I struggled with the oversize phone, I discovered that the number keys were spread out all over in an illogical manner. When I hunted them down and pressed them, the numbers that showed up on the LCD screen didn't match what I'd entered. I couldn't remember why I had another interview, and I didn't know who I was supposed to be meeting. I woke up convinced I'd never get the job.

The next night, Thursday, I had a dream in which my sister called me and told me I got the job. I told her to read the supposed acceptance letter to me, as I didn't believe her. It was very positive, but it was also clear that it was not conclusive. She had jumped the gun. Later an HR person from another firm I'd been interviewing with was talking to some of the people from this particular firm -- a rather unlikely occurrence in reality, but here we are in my dream. "Good executive material," said one of the interviewers. "Why?" said the HR woman. "Dominates conversations," said the interviewer, then began insinuating that I'd be able to do evil executiveish things while wearing a smile. The interviewer (I imagine it was a he, but I'm not sure) began comparing me to a [nonexistent] Japanese CEO (of an American firm?) that was announcing [absurd] dividends of $5. I was now seeing the press conference. "But what about Enron's collapse?" asked an unseen reporter. "Oh, that's right, it'll be more like $4.50," said the CEO with a large grin. "But it was winner-take-all?" asked the reporter, still offscreen. "Yes, winner-take-all," said the CEO. "Okay then, no problem," said the reporter. I woke up confused, unsure if "winner-take-all" was a genuine financial term that I'd absorbed osmotically or if I was just making up associations (apparently, the latter).

I found out last Friday that I didn't get the job. It's good that I never let anyone who told me I'd get it for sure convince me completely. When I got the news, I felt very tired. I didn't want a hug, and I didn't want to cry. I sat back in the chair I had been sitting in before the phone call a minute and a half ago. I thought about how I felt before it was uncertain, and how I felt now that there was a result. I unpaused my video game and continued playing it, even though it was a very bad video game. I didn't want to wait for the disc to reload so I could select another one. Before I knew any result, I would have thought I'd be a lot more upset with a negative one. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet, but it seems that after all this time, I lack the ability to have an extreme reaction. It was a lot of time that I invested with this firm, and I do not want to have to continue the job search next semester. But somehow my reaction was not what I thought it would be.

Brent (1:08:21 AM): you know you should fucking make up your mind
Jordan (1:08:31 AM): i should get a job and then make up my mind to do that job
Jordan (1:08:33 AM): is more like it
Brent (1:08:45 AM): well I bet your wishywashyness is coming across in interviews
Brent (1:08:59 AM): Its like
Brent (1:09:07 AM): writing, programming, business
Brent (1:09:08 AM): pick one
Jordan (1:09:13 AM): asdf
Jordan (1:09:14 AM): i guess

---

I was browsing CDs at Tower after watching Not Another Teen Movie, which was only funny during the first half, mostly due to the foreign exchange student walking around naked at all times. But we knew going in that it would be pretty bad, so any laughs at all were more than we expected. We are suburbanites, and we have little to do.

When I was going through the sale rack (where I picked up Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic for $8), I noticed a few Fine Young Cannibals CDs. And then I remembered that I still have my high school coach's Fine Young Cannibals self-titled CD from when he lent it to me during senior year. I've been meaning to return it for a few years now; it's just one of those things that never happened. I never got it back to him. I'll never be able to get it back to him, either.

After my third or fourth round interviews with the aforementioned firm (it's all become something of a blur), when I had returned to school and checked email for the first time in several days, I found out that he had been killed. I don't know if it will be ruled a manslaughter or a murder. Apparently his wife had postpartum depression and stabbed him, then herself. She was hospitalized and lived; I don't know the extent of her injuries. The child was 10 weeks old at the time and is staying with the grandparents now. I think I met his wife once before they were married. I came over to his house to discuss the team's website, which I was designing with him, and we were briefly introduced.

I will always have a special association with the team because a sports physical found a congenital heart defect (a hole -- poetic, I know) in me, and that essentially saved my life. (It was fixed in the summer of my sophomore year, and I'm fine now.) The team was also very good about keeping the matter private once my condition was discovered, and it saved me a lot of dealing with people asking me if I'd live and how I was. It let me conduct my life in the normal manner which most sick people want to conduct it. Almost anyone who wasn't on the team was unaware of the situation, even as the years went on. I'm sure most people still have no idea.

But when I heard this story, that the coach of the team that was the reason I am going to live had been stabbed, it still felt like a story, distant and unreal. My coach and I had long been out of touch. I hadn't ever really been his athlete in a permanent sense because he coached the varsity boys, and I was not varsity quality. I did not attend alumni events, and I doubt I ever will. I quit the team senior year to work on business-related issues. I wonder who, among those I have felt very close to in the past, but am not in touch with now, would cause me great grief by dying. It is not a pleasant thought, and so I have not really performed much of an audit.

This is a pretty sad entry I suppose. Rejection, death, heart conditions. I'm not very sad right now, but these are all sad topics.

Dear you, have a happy, healthy, palindromic new year. At least you can be sure of one of those three things.