Getting a call from a prospective employer made me dizzy with excitement. After putting down the phone, I gambolled around my room like a hyena on helium. But the interview went less than stellar. For sure, the work environment was ideal. The office doubled up as a storeroom for art pieces and strange, disturbing artifacts. It was, if I may, artistically cluttered. Every nook and cranny piled high with colourful objects and graphic caricatures, it was difficult even to make out a desk. And the boss terrified me. He saw through my every bullshit smile, called me out on my twisty, nervous fingers, and eyed me suspiciously as I bit my lip and racked my brains for something intelligent to say.
What a horror story.
You're wrong, mister, when you said I sounded like I didn't know who I was. I do know who I am. I'm someone who will not compromise her principles in pursuit of acceptance, or affirmation. Or a job. Your art is provocative but to what end? At least I know the person I don't want to be. That may not be enough for you but it's really enough for me.
And for the Lord, my God, I think my faithfulness is enough too. And it's all enough, it's all enough.
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