I found out last week that I'd been offered a job stitching costumes in the costume shop at Portland Center Stage. This was incredible news, since I hadn't actually ever met anybody who currently works there. This is how it went down: some folks at my church are acquainted with the head seamstress of a TV show that's being shot here in Portland, and they put me in touch with her. Her name is Leslie. She, in turn, gave me some phone numbers to call and ask about stitching work. One of those numbers belonged to Tesa, the head seamstress on another Portland-based TV show, who was impressed enough with what I could show her of my work that she called up her contacts at Portland Center Stage and told them to hire me. I imagine they must really trust her judgment because the next thing I knew I was listening to a slightly awkward and definitely unfamiliar voice (belonging to Lindsay, the "Costume Shop Assistant" at PCS who nevertheless seems to run the place) on the phone offering me my first regular job in a year and a half, and my first full-time job ever.
So that was the first blessing. I got excited enough about it that even during that phone call I couldn't sit still, and paced around from room to room like an orbiting Sheltie, but slower. And taller.
Perhaps the next day, a coworker of Leslie called me to ask if it would be all right if she forwarded my contact info to a friend of hers who wanted to have a suit made. He's apparently rather tall and gangling and has trouble finding suits that fit him properly. Also it's very difficult to find well-tailored suits in neon yellow. This was too intriguing an idea to turn down, so I said yes, by all means give him my number. He'd be my first tailoring client.
That was the second. There was plenty more pacing during this phone call, and a mixture of anticipation and fear at the prospect of making a whole suit for someone else.
Friday, I received an email from the contact person at DAAD, the scholarship-granting organization to which I've applied four years in a row. I've learned to hate the sight of her name, Myoung-Shin Kim, which is a shame because it's a really cool name. Too often has that name been associated in my mind with my own failure. In the pit of my stomach I felt an ominously concentrated heaviness, as though that's where my hopes and dreams live and they were gathering themselves together in a vain attempt to defend themselves against their inevitable destruction at the hands of this Myoung-Shin Kim with her terrible weapon: the news of my fourth rejection.
Unable to delay the inevitable, even if I'd wanted to, I clicked to open the email and apprehensively scrolled down past the massive header. My fevered eyes searched for the first full paragraph, sure that it would begin "We regret to inform you..." or "Unfortunately," or perhaps "U suck lolz!"
But no! That paragraph started with "Congratulations!" and I read as far as "We are very pleased to announce..." before that ball of anxiety in my gut simultaneously transformed into giddiness and expanded so quickly that my vision was obscured and I couldn't really read the rest of the message. My hands balled themselves into fists and approached my mouth, which had opened wide in surprise and delight. My eyes bulged, attempting to see around the joy and euphoria that swam about my head to read the rest of the email to make sure I wasn't jumping to what would be a devastatingly wrong conclusion. My throat let out a few strangled whoops. It was true. I'd gotten the scholarship.
So in less than a week, I received a solid job offer as a lowly stitcher, a potential job opportunity as a full-on tailor, and a giant scholarship to study my favorite subject at my favorite master's program in the entire world while living in my favorite big city ever (so far).
Now, normally when people say things like "best week evarr!!1!" I wonder if they can possibly know that no week in their future will bring better news or make them even just a tiny bit happier than the one in question. But really, if I ever experience a better week, I'll probably explode.
