I can hear them whisper and it makes me think there must be something wrong with me

I'm sitting here trying to think of something to write. You know that feeling when you want to write, want to update, but can think of nothing to say?

I have sort of unofficially dismissed my therapist. I turned up for our first session after Christmas and New Year the other week, and he wasn't home. He hadn't called me or anything, nor left any message to say what was happening -- his son just answered the door, and told me nicely that he was out for the evening, and he'd get him to call me. He never did call me. I thought, maybe he's lost my phone number -- which is almost as bad -- so I didn't turn up the next week. Technically not having seen him the week before, I could say we didn't have an appointment, but I thought he would call me to find out what was going on. He still didn't call. So I figure, screw it. Like so many times before, I'll go it alone for a while. I still do feel like I need therapy (I'm sure he would agree) and there's issues I still need to work on, but I'll go back to the old fashioned method of work hard, go to the gym, try to get out more... I'm not sure about the deeper issues.

My two and a half days in work last week passed entirely without drama. I smile a little to myself about it, because I think they were so desperate for someone to come in and do the job, and for someone to actually stay, that they might just need me more than I need them right now. I get the distinct feeling that they don't want to overwhelm me with everything right away, but I am quietly whispering to myself that I am confident, happy and capable -- and it sort of works. I don't think my job is ever going to involve anything too mentally taxing, and I don't think that it is ever going to reach the despairing levels of working in a call centre. Seriously, I should have been like Amy Winehouse with that shit and said no, no, no -- this would have been a much better job back then, if I was insistent on something office based, or else the bookshop was a much happier place.

Speaking of the bookshop, I gave Kelly as a reference to my recruiter last week -- it was a bit cheeky of the recruiter, as she was meant to have got references from me before she sent me for a job. Anyway, Kelly gave a glowing reference for me -- she apparently told them what a lovely young man I am, who is happy, reliable and how I was an assest to the bookshop over Christmas. Bless her, I can hardly recognise myself from that.

She's right though, most of the time I was pretty happy in that job -- and I'm glad her lasting impression of me is as a happy person. I don't think anyone realised what that job meant for me, it wasn't just minimum wage selling books, it showed me I was employable and likeable. Another staff member told me one day how she remembered when I came in for my interview, because when I left Kelly and Bev were both saying how much they liked me and wanted me to work for them. It's a shame it couldn't last, but it does look like things might be heading in the right direction with work in general.

In terms of all of that sort of thing, it's odd. I'm perhaps not as excited as I should be about the whole thing -- my celebratory bottle of champagne I got as a leaving gift after my PR contract last April still remains unopened. I've said I'm saving it to celebrate getting a proper job, and I thought that the medical college job I interviewed for before would have counted. I was actually quietly concerned if I was up to the task for that job, and I guess we'll never have to find out now.

A couple of weeks back I saw a bunch of my family, and of course had to field the question "what are you doing now?" all day. When I was asked by one aunt what I wanted to do, and struggled a bit with the question, she said almost pityingly "You're still looking for 'something interesting'". In the book What Should I Do With My Life? the author talks to various people from different walks of life who were looking for some sort of meaning in their lives -- and rejecting the assumption that it is trivial or even ungrateful to want to feel some sort of passion about their work.

It seems a more common idea that we shouldn't. My Dad always tells me that you're not supposed to enjoy work, otherwise they wouldn't pay you to turn up. Likewise, in one of her songs Ani DiFranco says "Maybe you don't like your job, maybe you didn't get enough sleep? Nobody likes their job, nobody gets enough sleep." And my favourite quote of all from Drew Carey: "Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar." We seem bombarded with messages that work is something you have to put up with, we do it to have the money to afford to do things we do enjoy. It seems a shame that there isn't more of an emphasis on enjoying what we do.

Don't get me wrong, I don't even dislike my job, and I really hope things stay that way. But I also can't help but wonder if I sold out, if training as a journalist and working without pay for newspapers and in PR was all just a waste of my time. In many ways, I'd like to think not -- they've given me various transferable skills for work and for life, but part of me does still feels a little let down. If I was to meet the 18 year old me, how would I explain that working in the media never happened? Sorry kid, it was just a bit too competitive, and you were just a tiny bit too shy, or maybe a bit too unsure of yourself. But I hope in a not too distant future I will feel I can tell him it all worked out for the best -- but just look at how things worked out!