It's now been more than two weeks and I still haven't heard about the job thing.
I did a major clean yesterday, and during it I sorted through some old college papers, including a folder of contacts and cover letters and job leads all relating to getting a job at a museum or a gallery in New York. I never got one, obviously; there just weren't any openings, and I couldn't afford to work for free as an intern, so. And here I am 11 years later, working for the man in a field that's not art-related at all. Pretty damn depressing. My relocation momentum is slowing way down. Maybe I shouldn't move at all. Maybe I should try getting a full nights' sleep again, somehow.