panic stations

I am. Freaking. The Fuck. Out.

Seriously people, this is an epic level freak out happening right now. I'm on about a level 4 on the "Alex is melting down I'm serious about this run for the hills do not stop to retrieve children or valuables well maybe that one vase as it could actually be worth something some day" scale. I'm screwed. Utterly screwed. Nobody is ever going to let me teach. Anywhere. Ever. I'm certainly not going to get on to my first choice course, the interview for which is on Thursday.

Why you ask? Well! I'll tell you.

I haven't spent the last nine years volunteering with sick children and teaching them to read. I haven't taken every day of annual leave I've had in the last two years and spent it mentoring underprivileged youths (although I wish I had). I have not spent the last six weeks rehearsing my presentation for my interview, in fact I haven't even started it. That last part? Utterly not hyperbole.

Shit.

Fuck.

I haven't spent a day in a school.

This is not my fault. It's the weirdest Easter ever right now. The schools aren't back yet. They don't answer emails. I have one possibility but I have to contact them after the school comes back in to session. On Monday. Four days after my interview. Useful. I fully intend on spending time in a school (because not to = fucking insane) I just haven't managed to yet.

This is entirely my fault. I should have started sooner. I applied too late. I'm not dedicated enough.

I made the mistake of reading message boards dedicated to applications for teaching. This was a bad idea. It made me freak out. I'm freaking out right now. Can you tell? Because, honestly? The people who visit websites dedicated to stuff are nerds and weirdos. I should know. I am one. Except I read scathing movie reviews, random sci-fi stuff, articles about sex and the evils of magazines, blogs on feminist issues and lots and lots and lots (and lots) of webcomics. I spend all day online working out exactly how many X-Men continuities I'm currently reading (three), daydreaming about my next tattoo and shoe shopping.

This does not make me a bad person. Really, it doesn't. At least I don't think it does. Shit.

And normally I wouldn't care. Because I never care. I haven't prepared for an interview in my life. I am su-freaking-perb at interviews. I kick ass at presentations (speaking of: I really should get on with that, I have about 36 hours in which to complete it - 20 of those will be spent at work and/or sleeping, hmmmmm I wonder if I can do both simultaneously), I am confident and well spoken and look fierce in a suit. But I'm freaking out. Massively. Because for once in my life I actually want something. I want this so badly. Not just because I don't handle rejection well. Not just because I want to be a student next year. Not just because I hate my current job so much it makes me want to leap out of my third floor window.

But because more and more I realise just how important it is (yes, that's my question).

I want to teach my subject. I want to be an authority figure that is always sympathetic. I want to be one of the few adults who offers a completely safe space. I want to be a role model to young women who are conditioned against science, against speaking up, against acting out. I want to explain inheritance theory and the process of natural selection. I want to see the maniacal spark in the pacifist veggie kid's eyes as she cuts into her first rat and decides on a career in pathology (hello, me at thirteen). I want this. The only other thing I've wanted this much was my place at University. I got that. I want this.

I know that I want this because I'm planning for my rejection. This doesn't happen in Alex Land. In Alex Land when you get rejected for something it takes under thirty seconds to have yourself and everyone around you convinced that you didn't want it anyways. Let thirty more seconds pass and you've already moved on to your Next Big Scheme. That doesn't happen here. I'm planning for my rejection. If I get rejected my application goes on to the next place. And then the next. And then it's June and I'm in clearing. And then the process is closed, the slots are filled. Come October I'm temping, taking a TEFL qualification in the evenings. January comes around and it's goodbye London, hello Tokyo. My application for the next year has already been sent. Interviews begin again.

And I calm down a little.

But still, there's the little voice whispering at the back of my head. They need science teachers, they are under fucking subscribed. You haven't prepared because you don't need to, why do you think they pay you ten grand tax free to train? They should be begging you to apply. You are a natural. And it's that little voice that's fucking me over because for a few minutes I believe it and start feeling confident. Then I start feeling blase. Then I start feeling cocky.

And the swing from "cocky" to "gibbering ball of panic and stress" is so steep and so terrifyingly far that it makes my stomach churn.

Bollocksing buggering bastarding fuck.

I'm going to read comics and worry myself to sleep. An activity only marginally less productive than spending half an hour ranting about my unpreparedness. Half an hour I could have been using to prepare.

Oh for fuck's sake.