Just another deflated architect wonders.

It all began rather simply. Creative inspiration can arrive with rather heavy baggage in the most unusual instances paying no heed to the time or place. For me, it all happened while replying to an email and in a frantic attempt to complete a 3D model in Revit. It's ironic how prestigious our branch seems to sound. For starters, most architects bring back an image of a suave gentleman in a 3 piece suit carrying a brief case in one hand and a roll of sheets in the other, walking into an office with a smile akin to an AT&T customer service representative. Most representatives give the image of a beautiful woman cooing into your ears about how glad she is that you have subscribed to their company service while you frolic at the other end of the phone like a newborn lamb. But the harsh realities, when they dawn upon you are like a stack of 2 by 4's bopping you in the head while you are returning from a city plan check, where the plan checker seemingly dismembered Conan the Barbarian before listening to your design solutions.

Now, architecture is the noblest of professions I was told. It's so noble that without uttering haughty words of wisdom one can have the benefit of "my own, personal halo of Jehovah" just like opening a packet of peanuts. I don't mean to pry, but hey, I'm sure every time you said to somebody that you were an architect (soon after graduation days), you would simply fill your lungs with air like a puffer fish and utter those very words while levitating three inches above the ground. This would last a good two weeks while you deflate over job search strategies. Then its time for the job calls. There you go with confidence, your portfolio clutched hard to your chest and your hands waving like maestro playing his most cherished symphony. The interview lasts a good one-hour where in all the heavy weights in the company gang up on you and concoct questions out of thin air while your brain screams, "They didn't tell me that at school!" When you walk out of the office, there are two things you can feel. Feeling number one: Absolute confidence, like you have vanquished Genghis Khan's army with a pincushion, or feeling number two: absolute horror, realizing what the pin cushion feels like when it makes sudden contact with the soft contents of your behind.

Then begins the wait. You have been able to make friendly appearances, at some 30 odd interviews and your zest is running thin.