Unliveable

This morning I got the rejection note from the NYC Teaching Fellowship. I knew it was coming; I knew since the middle of my interview evening at the start of March. (The interview process included a basic verbal and maths test, a fake be-a-teacher-thing, a discussion period, and a writing portion. I did well on everything, except the fake be-a-teacher-thing. You know, the most important thing.)

Anyway, it would have hurt more (before I edited this, I accidentally wrote "it would have heart more" -- hi, psychological slip!), but I was expecting it. Plus, I had already had a few drinks when I got the message. In any case, I didn't cry like I did when I got the rejection letter from the Mississippi Teaching Corps a few days ago. Instead I shouted "woohoo!" sarcastically and went for a drive with my cigarettes and Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies.

I leave for Israel to-night. (I'm going to stay at my brother's to-night because he lives near the airport, then going to the airport to-morrow.) I should be looking forward to it, but I'm facing a lot of time (3 weeks) with a lot a family (at least 10 people for most of that time). This includes holiday meals and don't-wear-trousers-around-my-easily-influenced-infant-WHO-CAN'T-TELL-THE-DIFFERENCE-BECAUSE-HE'S-AN-INFANT. Fuck you, brother-in-law.

I'm not looking forward to the next three weeks. or the next three years. Or the next three decades. There is not enough vodka on this planet to make the upcoming time liveable.