Language Exam and Karma and Hope vs the Other Thing (Despair)
I have no idea whether I passed my German language exam. It was ... indescribable. Partly because of NDA requirements (which were not mentioned, by the way, by the testers, but are mentioned on State's website, I believe). And partly because ... part of me just doesn't want to think about all the mistakes I made.
In a word, I babbled. And babbled. And babbled some more.
Until they cut me off. Politely, but firmly, brought it to an end.
I had been dreading this test for weeks; this morning, leading up to it, my stomach was in knots. By the time 9 a.m. came around and I lifted the receiver to call the testing site, I was more nervous than I'd been the day of my Oral Assessment.
Really?
Yes, really.
Why?
Because the difference in score could--at this point, most probably would--make all the difference in my chances of getting an invitation to an A-100, in other words a firm job offer. The same OA score that two years ago would have been a shoe-in, and even this time last year would've stood a healthy chance of success, now means almost no chance of getting in.
On January 20, I was 107 out of 182 on the register. As of yesterday, I was 109 out of 191. Not good. I'm dropping like a rock and the register continues to grow longer. I had hoped that because a good number of people were reportedly invited to the March A-100 that I would move up. Instead, I moved down. And I received this news on the eve of my phone test. So I put enormous pressure on myself to pass this thing.
Now, trying to think positively, I suppose I can say that although I'm not happy I babbled, I am glad that I didn't become too terrified to speak. If anything else, I went the opposite way ... continuing to yammer on, trying to find the right words to express what I meant until they had to shut me up. Politely, but firmly shut me up. Actually, it's rather funny when you think about it.
I just wanted to go out and get drunk. Unfortunately, we don't have liquor in the house. I always forget to buy some. So I promised myself that when I went out, I'd go buy myself some booze and drown my sorrows. And I did. Go out, I mean. I took my laptop to the shop and was relieved to hear that instead of spending $800+ for a new logic board, I'd only have to spend $400 for a flat fee to fix the multitudinous things plaguing my baby. Then I went to the post office and finally picked up copies of my latest book (an about-to-be-best seller -- yay!) and then I went home.
Did you notice something?
I forgot all about my plans to guzzle liquor until I walked in the door. Well, I was so upset about that that I decided to fix some home-grown brew. I tore my coat off, marched into the kitchen and found some instant coffee. I poured some granules into a nice tall glass, then added milk and sugar. Stirred briskly. Drank greedily. With a little imagination (okay, a lot of imagination), it tasted just like Benedictine. There ya go! Benedictine on a tight budget. I promptly got drunk on my home-made liquor and passed out in the living room armchair, exhausted after weeks and weeks of worrying about deadlines and tests and making clients happy.
Then I woke up.
Ever since then I've been trying to tell myself that them cutting me off doesn't equate to an automatic failure. But ...
I've also reminded myself that I can take the test again in six months or that I've already found a school where I can study Turkish for a reasonable fee.
I keep telling myself that I've only been on the register for one month. I still have seventeen months to go -- seventeen months to learn a new language and get those bonus points.
But I'm also tired. I've been chasing this Foreign Service dream for a long time now, and I'm exhausted. I feel as though I'm chasing after a moving target. Every time I overcome one hurdle, I turn and suddenly find a new one.
My son and I talked about me going for a third round--taking the FSOT, etc.--but ... I'm not the only one who's exhausted. My family and friends are, too. And I've begun to wonder whether this whole thing is "meant" for me. And yes, I do mean in the metaphysical, psychic, karma kind of sense. Remember that saying, "Many are called, but few are chosen?" Well, I've begun to wonder whether I'm meant to be one of the 'many' and not of the 'few.'
I spoke to a wonderful woman this evening, an acquaintance who has had to endure a double liver transplant and a mastectomy and who is still fighting cancer. She spoke to me about hope. She doesn't know my situation. We were discussing something else entirely, but her words struck a chord. Actually, we were talking about survival methods. She said that everyone needs to feel hope, that it was important to find something specific to hope for, even if it's something small, something you can cling to.
So I'm trying to find hope now. I'm praying for a miracle, that I passed my language test after all. And I'm praying for real movement, upward movement, on the register.
In the meantime, I want to thank everyone who takes the time to visit this sparsely-written blog, to read my entries and then leave a comment. I appreciate the support and encouragement. It has meant a great deal to me. So thank you and best wishes also to those of you who, like me, are still struggling to run this crazy marathon.
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In a word, I babbled. And babbled. And babbled some more.
Until they cut me off. Politely, but firmly, brought it to an end.
I had been dreading this test for weeks; this morning, leading up to it, my stomach was in knots. By the time 9 a.m. came around and I lifted the receiver to call the testing site, I was more nervous than I'd been the day of my Oral Assessment.
Really?
Yes, really.
Why?
Because the difference in score could--at this point, most probably would--make all the difference in my chances of getting an invitation to an A-100, in other words a firm job offer. The same OA score that two years ago would have been a shoe-in, and even this time last year would've stood a healthy chance of success, now means almost no chance of getting in.
On January 20, I was 107 out of 182 on the register. As of yesterday, I was 109 out of 191. Not good. I'm dropping like a rock and the register continues to grow longer. I had hoped that because a good number of people were reportedly invited to the March A-100 that I would move up. Instead, I moved down. And I received this news on the eve of my phone test. So I put enormous pressure on myself to pass this thing.
Now, trying to think positively, I suppose I can say that although I'm not happy I babbled, I am glad that I didn't become too terrified to speak. If anything else, I went the opposite way ... continuing to yammer on, trying to find the right words to express what I meant until they had to shut me up. Politely, but firmly shut me up. Actually, it's rather funny when you think about it.
I just wanted to go out and get drunk. Unfortunately, we don't have liquor in the house. I always forget to buy some. So I promised myself that when I went out, I'd go buy myself some booze and drown my sorrows. And I did. Go out, I mean. I took my laptop to the shop and was relieved to hear that instead of spending $800+ for a new logic board, I'd only have to spend $400 for a flat fee to fix the multitudinous things plaguing my baby. Then I went to the post office and finally picked up copies of my latest book (an about-to-be-best seller -- yay!) and then I went home.
Did you notice something?
I forgot all about my plans to guzzle liquor until I walked in the door. Well, I was so upset about that that I decided to fix some home-grown brew. I tore my coat off, marched into the kitchen and found some instant coffee. I poured some granules into a nice tall glass, then added milk and sugar. Stirred briskly. Drank greedily. With a little imagination (okay, a lot of imagination), it tasted just like Benedictine. There ya go! Benedictine on a tight budget. I promptly got drunk on my home-made liquor and passed out in the living room armchair, exhausted after weeks and weeks of worrying about deadlines and tests and making clients happy.
Then I woke up.
Ever since then I've been trying to tell myself that them cutting me off doesn't equate to an automatic failure. But ...
I've also reminded myself that I can take the test again in six months or that I've already found a school where I can study Turkish for a reasonable fee.
I keep telling myself that I've only been on the register for one month. I still have seventeen months to go -- seventeen months to learn a new language and get those bonus points.
But I'm also tired. I've been chasing this Foreign Service dream for a long time now, and I'm exhausted. I feel as though I'm chasing after a moving target. Every time I overcome one hurdle, I turn and suddenly find a new one.
My son and I talked about me going for a third round--taking the FSOT, etc.--but ... I'm not the only one who's exhausted. My family and friends are, too. And I've begun to wonder whether this whole thing is "meant" for me. And yes, I do mean in the metaphysical, psychic, karma kind of sense. Remember that saying, "Many are called, but few are chosen?" Well, I've begun to wonder whether I'm meant to be one of the 'many' and not of the 'few.'
I spoke to a wonderful woman this evening, an acquaintance who has had to endure a double liver transplant and a mastectomy and who is still fighting cancer. She spoke to me about hope. She doesn't know my situation. We were discussing something else entirely, but her words struck a chord. Actually, we were talking about survival methods. She said that everyone needs to feel hope, that it was important to find something specific to hope for, even if it's something small, something you can cling to.
So I'm trying to find hope now. I'm praying for a miracle, that I passed my language test after all. And I'm praying for real movement, upward movement, on the register.
In the meantime, I want to thank everyone who takes the time to visit this sparsely-written blog, to read my entries and then leave a comment. I appreciate the support and encouragement. It has meant a great deal to me. So thank you and best wishes also to those of you who, like me, are still struggling to run this crazy marathon.
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