Today I got an email from a very good friend of mine--in fact we're metting for pizza, beer, and ANTM this evening--saying that she'd got a multi-year postdoc. I'm really happy for her, of course; this is great news, and (although I haven't talked to her live yet) I'm sure she's delighted. It's a terrific position and she totally deserves it.
But, naturally--because the job search brings out the absolute worst in me--the news raised a little shudder of the god-I'm-such-a-loser feelings that I've become pretty good at suppressing (most of the time, anyway). The feelings were compounded by the fact that I hadn't heard back from Recent Interview School, which was supposed to make campus-visit decisions by Sunday. I've had six interviews this year, and no call-backs. And so I started the predictable moan: "What's wrong with me?" I wondered, my body creeping closer and closer to a fetal position. "My interview skills suck. I'll never get a job. Everyone got a job but me..." (which I know isn't true, but such laments care little for the truth).
At the nadir of my pityfest, the phone rang. It was the committee chair from Recent Interview, apologizing for the delay in getting back to me and asking whether I'd be available for a campus visit next week.
So now, of course, I have a whole new wealth of superstition to exploit: the conviction that I'm unemployable is what causes the phone to ring! Ah ha! I've figured it out: the magic spell!
Oh, and god: this means I need to do work, right? I need to actually...prepare a presentation! Dear lord. I've lost all habit of industry. I'd better get on this.