Wednesday 29 April 2026 in 2026

Dear A,
This morning I had one of those moments where you forget what day it is, and then it came back to me that it was the day of the job interview. I got up and made a coffee, one of those M&S toffee latte sachets, and added a shot of espresso to give it a bit of kick. I sat for a while scrolling TikTok, and listened to my horoscope. But I am starting to think I need to stop taking that seriously. It sets up a sense that something good is about to happen, and when it doesn’t, it leaves me feeling flat. I can see now that it is probably detrimental to my well-being, shaping expectations in a way that doesn’t help me. I think it’s better to treat it as something light, rather than something that directs how I expect the day to go.
After my coffee, I made two crumpets with jam, but breakfast couldn’t smooth my building nerves. I settled on the sofa with my notes, rehearsing answers and memorising acronyms to steady myself. I ran through it all again after a quick bath; the heat of the day was pressing in on me. Dressed in black trousers, a navy blazer, and diamond earrings, I felt wrapped too tightly. After a final run-through, I packed my bag (notes, coin purse, glasses, water, lip gloss), and left at 1:30 pm.
I found a parking space in the city centre and managed to park without dinging the car doors. I arrived early and picked up my visitor badge from HR. A man on the interview panel met me in the waiting room. He shook my hand, but his quietness gave the whole encounter a strange tone—the vibe felt off. In the interview room, the two women were more engaging, but the large desk and lack of handshakes set a very formal tone. They offered me a cup of water, and I wondered whether it was a test—should I have poured my own water? They gave me a booklet and proceeded to read out each question (five in total), which I answered one-by-one, relying on my silly acronyms. It didn’t feel like a conversation—just me talking while they typed silently on their tablets. Without nods or reactions, it felt stiff and hard to gauge—more rigid than I’d hoped for. (I wanted a conversation damn it.) At one point they said they’d had a long day. I said I understood. Was I their last interviewee of the day?
I had some questions at the end. The usual stuff like “how did this role open up?” and “is there room for professional development?” The mood lifted slightly. The women were more chatty. The man remained silent. (Why was he even there?) I briefly reiterated that I was interested in the role and the reasons why I felt I was a strong candidate. Two weeks, she said, before I hear the result. Email. Thanks all round. Still no handshakes. I took my empty water cup with me when I left. Again, was it a test of etiquette? Or me overthinking? I disposed of it myself.
After returning the identity badge to HR and walking back to the car, the heat was heavy. I wondered why I put myself through these things. I could have been at home, in the shade, drinking an ice-cold Diet Coke. Once home, irritation started to settle in. I checked my email, glanced at other jobs, and saw a senior role I’ll apply for tomorrow.
After dinner, exhaustion hit hard. I fell asleep on the sofa under a blanket until 9 p.m. Maybe that’s normal after days of preparatory work, but what lingers is the sense of wasted time. Yes, I gained interview experience, but the entire day, even the days leading up, have been completely consumed by this job interview. In the end, it all just feels like a big, fat waste of time.
A, I’m wondering what you would say to me now. Would you encourage me to keep going? I’m certain you’d have your own thoughtful reflections on my day.