P.C.A.D.

Sounds like a sneeze, eh? Or maybe that attempt to swear after stubbing your big toe on the bed post at 3am when all you were really hoping for was the last chocolate chip cookie?

It's my acronym for the disorder that I have invented:
Phone Call Anxiety Disorder - A disorder that sends it's victim in roller-coaster fits of anticipation-clickety-clack-excitement-clickety-clack-disappointment-clickety-clack-despair (oh, btw, the "clickety-clacks" were my roller-coaster sound effects - high tech, huh?).

I have learned these last 4 months to hate the phone.
I can't tell you how often I hear it ring - and I wonder, I hope, I dare to dream:

"Hey, it's someone calling about my resume submittal"

"Hey I bet this is the call!"

And then, it's not.

My friends have grown use to this abuse - the despondent sound in my voice when I answer and it's just, well, just them. I don't think this is what Alexander Graham Bell was expecting. I find myself playing games...
leaving the phone downstairs, pretending I don't hear it, turning it off, not looking at the caller id;
just to draw out those first few moments of anticipation...of hope.

So, well - just be warned - if you call and get my voice mail - consider yourself lucky - he's so much nicer than me.