Here's the thing.
When we started Candidacy Numero Uno we were all, "La, la, la, exciting, ooh, we made it past the test, ooh, now past the essays, wowwie, now, past the OA! And look, based on the stats, a 5.4 will get us in. And fast."
But how quickly things change.
That 5.4 became doggie kibble because the economy went into the crapper and all those smartie-pants people who used to have better things to do thought they would apply, just like we did. And then they spoke Arabic and Mandarin and were veterans and zippity-quick, up the ladder they flew, and down the chute we sailed.
So, Candidacy Numero Dos. A little more grouchingly waiting for each step of the process. Our eyes are more wide open. And more aware that this career may not happen, despite all the time and effort. That sometimes timing and luck and the economy and just fate can be enough to make it happen. Plus hard work. But I don't want my husband to be the guy who takes the test ten times.
The thing that makes me resentful and tired is that I went into this thinking I was in for a sprint and when I was near the finish line, they moved it and told me, "Ha, ha, Sucka', this isn't a 5K, it's a marathon. Actually, we may decide it's an ultra-marathon, you know, where you run through the desert for 100 miles. But we'll let you know. Sometime."
I am a walker. I trained for the 5K and I am hitting the wall. I don't have my energy bars or gel or goo (look at me sounding all official, like I know what that crap is) or enough water. And, hello?, where is the bathroom?