The journey to work went by in a haze. I was an hour earlier than usual. This was by choice. The alarm had been set an hour in advance before I hit the hay last night. There was method in my madness. I am not hovering on the edge of a breakdown – which is one of the only reasons I can contemplate that would inspire me to peel myself from my pit even one minute earlier than would be absolutely necessary.

I had an interview.

Not only was this an interview. It was in fact a second round interview for that job in Amsterdam that I discussed on here in recent weeks. The first round interview was held in a swanky hotel in Malahide last Friday. Good Friday is not a bank holiday in Ireland but it is compulsory day’s leave in my company. Because I wouldn’t be required to call in sick or to book an imaginary dental appointment in order to attend the interview I had no reason not to attend.

The head of the hiring department was in Dublin. We met in the hotel lobby, went to a quiet corner and I did my song and dance act about why I would be such as asset to any company. I am grateful that no room had been booked in the hotel for the interview. I wouldn’t want to be seen as the type of person who went to hotel rooms for an hour at a time. People might get the wrong idea about my blameless character.

He liked me and I was called for a second round interview. This time it was via Skype – well unless they were willing fly me to Amsterdam I wasn’t going to spend that amount of money on a chance.

During the week I had been thinking about my motives and whether I truly wanted to return to my abandoned city. My feelings were veering to the negative side of the argument. It had been a time of such turmoil and upheaval to move back to Ireland? Was I really prepared to throw in the towel before the two years I had committed to staying had expired?

Especially seeing as it’s really only been in the past six months that a feeling of slight equilibrium has returned to my life?

Had I forgotten all the reasons I had left in the first place? Wouldn’t they raise their ugly heads within weeks of my return?

I woke up this morning intending to cancel the interview.

I didn’t.

I hauled my carcass to my workplace and had a job interview for a competing company in a conference room

I was rather nervous. Would I be heard and caught and frog marched out of the building? I reminded myself of my tendency to paranoia. People really are too caught up in their own routines to notice what that quiet bespectacled homosexual (that would be me) is up to early in the morning.

I went through the motions while trying to make sure I couldn’t be overheard. The interview did not go well.

When I was asked if I’d rather do a good job on time, or deliver a perfect job late, I chose the former. My reasoning being that a job delivered late by its very definition cannot be perfect.

I will hear the result tomorrow. I am going to deal with the outcome.