The Interview Call

I have an interview, and I am en-route to the avenue riding in an auto. International School. I have an interview at a school! But I am not a teacher--the interview is for the position of a content writer. This is your dream job. Give it your best. I am nervous (obviously!). The road is so muddy, but I don't remember it raining the previous day. I am afraid the auto would get stuck in the mud. It doesn't, and I reach the school well before time. Kids in uniform wish me. "Good morning, madam." I smile to myself as  I make my way to the office. I stop short as I remember that I have forgotten to bring my resume or writing samples! How could I? I glance at my watch, its only 10:30 am; the interview is at 11. I wonder if I should just rush home and get the needed documents. I am confused and lost in thought. Just then an invisible voice addresses me. "Leave it", it says, "As it is, you can't take this job. What is the use even trying?" But a part of me doesn't want to give up so soon, I know I can't take this job, but at least I can attend the interview. I am still contemplating what to do. The sun is getting warmer and I wiggle my toes. They are getting sweaty under the bed sheet. Then I open my eyes. I am confused and I look around. 

Oh! I get it. I just woke up from a dream; but it was so vivid that it felt real. Wide awake by now, I get ready to start my Sunday. I feel upset because of the dream, almost tearful. That was my dream job! But I didn't even get to attend the interview. Anyway, I make myself some hot tea infused with fragrant spices. That perks up my mood and I get on with my chores.

It's Wednesday and I have just arrived at my office. I check my mail. There it is, shouting at me from my inbox:

REPUTED INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL REQUIRES CONTENT WRITER

I open the mail, and hurriedly read through the contents. Yes! This is the job I had dreamed about!  A sense of deja vu envelops me as I stare at the computer screen. Isn't it weird that something I dreamed about is actually happening? It’s funny, but I don't find it strange at all; it is as if I was expecting this to happen. That little invisible voice calls out again, “Come on! You know you can't take this job!" How much would I have loved to argue with that voice! But I don't. I know I can't take that job even if accepted. I delete the mail and get on with my work--the work that fails to give me joy anymore, the work that drains me so much that I wish I could quit.