Butterflies.. fluttering in the.. air.

I speak not of spring. I've been speaking an awful lot of spring it seems, how nice it is, how springlike it is, how not really all that springlike it is. I've been doing this about.. oh.. since a little before I finally stopped banging on about the winter it seems.

Well anyway.. I speak of those butterflies that live in our stomach. You know.. nerves.

So.. I got the contact sheet for the interview I'm doing. Oh.. did I tell you? I'm giving an interview tomorrow.. a few days ago I was finally contacted by the expat tv guy about our week's schedule. Oh yeah and the interview and stuff we were going to do last week was delayed.. and I didn't hear anything from the guy for a couple of days. Oh did I tell you? I got that job.. the one I went to the casting for.. oh did I tell you I...

Enough of that. A few days ago I got an email, sent to the whole group telling us when and where to show up and that's about it. My time and place just said "interview".. so I thought.. well thanks. I'll show up 15 minutes before.. he'll give me a rough idea of what it's about and there I'll go. He promised something called a "contact sheet".. but it seemed to take it's time coming.

Well I got it this morning and it gives me all the relevant details right down to a list of questions to paraphrase/base the interview on.. so I can't complain I haven't been briefed..

however. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh... How the fuck am I going to do an interview? I keep going through the questions, memorizing the gist of them, thinking up how it will proceed depending on the potential answers and other stuff to add to it but fuck! I'll fuck it up I just know I will.. everything will be different at the time and I'll go blank.. and say the stupid stuff that I keep reminding myself not to say and he'll reply with stuff I haven't thought of and fuuckkk!!!!

Well anyway the interview is tomorrow.