Things that happen when the job you really want is advertised

It takes a second to register. A lightning-bright tweet in a feed full of grey. That job you really, really want - it's available. There's a contact and a deadline and a job spec and everything - and your skills fit the brief. Emailing your application is the obvious step, but before that point you will most likely experience all of these: 

The manic state of elation

“My time has come!” you roar, as you Google the location of the offices and plan your route to work. You practice your best introductory smile in the nearest reflective surface, and start picturing what you'll wear on your first day (an outfit much more stylish, flattering and expensive than anything in your current wardrobe, obviously). You browse for stationery for your shiny new desk, and plan the first cake you’ll bring to the office to impress everyone with your culinary prowess. You end up in a 31-deep recipe-and-Paperchase tab hole – despite the fact your covering letter currently consists of your full name and Twitter handle, and nothing else. 

The comedown

Pesky, disappointing reality - the kind that tells you that you can’t survive solely on Coco Pops, and Ryan Gosling will probably never actually be your boyfriend - sinks in. You realise that you haven't actually proved yourself yet - and bagging yourself an interview is like clutching at the shiniest needle in a massively oversubscribed haystack. You open the employer’s website to start your research, but immediately start thinking about how much knowledge and experience the other candidates probably have. Crippling self-doubt ensues, and you sob internally for several hours whilst binge eating Kettle Chips and chain reading articles you wish you’d written.

The wanky CV meltdown

You get your head back in the game and finally put the pen (well, virtual cursor) to paper. You got this. You've been training for it since before A-Levels were a mere whisper on your horizon. You've got the experience, you've got the knowledge, you've got the qualifications - you've even got that evening course that your mum paid for when you were unemployed to 'give your CV a boost'. You know this, but you can't figure out how to convey your brilliance without sounding like an arrogant tosser. You tell your flatmates you’re taking a ‘screen break‘, and go to the shop for more Kettle Crisps. And a Cornetto.
 

The proofreading obessesion

The writing is done, but there is definitely a spelling mistake in there somewhere – you just haven’t found it yet. You’ve read it so much you’ve gone slightly cross-eyed, so you start handing out copies during trips to the pub and supplying everyone with teacher-style red pens so that they can point out your mistakes before the people you’re trying to impress inevitably do, whilst scrawling a big red cross through your name. Your poor boyfriend has read the same three paragraphs seven times. You demand he reads it again – carefully this time. 

The waiting game

It’s as ready as it’ll ever be. You spend at least two hours agonizing over your opening email, attach your week’s worth of hard work, and hit send. You then spend 75% of your daily life from then onwards refreshing your email constantly, even though the closing date isn’t for another week – because if you stare hard enough and long enough, you might just see the glorious Inbox (1) you’ve been waiting for. Fingers crossed!