I can't pretend things aren't tough at the moment.
The girl is struggling some days to keep everything from getting to her -- the combination of living with my parents, living up to an hour outside of London, not being happy with things at her work, and the uncertainty with my work all piles up and threatens to overwhelm her.
For me, too. I'm worried that my work will fire me as I'm just not making the sales required of me -- they told me in a recent meeting that hitting 50% of my monthly sales target doesn't even cover my wages. Naturally, I'm looking for other jobs but that too adds another layer -- applying, trying to craftily interview without my current work finding out, dealing with rejection.
The girl and I have considered that maybe I need to give up on marketing and communications altogether -- but in favour of what is hard to know. I took a test online about what careers would suit me, but it didn't have any great answers -- it told me things like writer, web editor, graphic designer. Creative jobs I aspire to sometimes, where I can also be left alone to work in peace. But highly skilled and competitive fields. As it is my job history looks a little too fragmented, not because I don't want to hold down a job, but the jobs I enjoy for one reason or another don't last. I'm torn between wanting to make this one last when I often can't stand it, just to show commitment, and wanting to get out as quickly as I can to something I do enjoy and am good at.
Some days the girl looks at places to rent in London that fit within our budget, albeit tightly -- but then she feels despondent that I haven't the security we can rely on, and so we can't look at them. I promise to try harder, to do better in work, to do better in my job search, but I often feel like I'm a failure. This whole post seems so very familiar, why have things not moved on? It's clearly something in my behaviour patterns, but I don't know how to break them. It's bad enough when it's just me affected, but upsetting the girl or adding to her worries is even worse.
Showing posts with label issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label issues. Show all posts
Saturday, 13 February 2010
Monday, 20 July 2009
The neuro-virus, and why you shouldn't stroke other people's cats
We take a short break today from the regular scheduled programming -- that is, the forever-delayed posts about the Inca trail -- to instead write about being unemployed. Because hopefully by the time I have written about the remaining three walking days of the trek, I will have a job again and have no witty observations to make on this sort of thing.
Last week, I was sat in the benefits office. Waiting my turn. Smiling to myself every time someone sat down without taking a ticket first. They'd be told they needed to take a ticket, from the machine. But the machine appeared to have no tickets. There would be a moment when you'd see people hover on the edge of getting angry and mouthing off to the claims assistants, or getting more confused. You could almost see them physically teeter on the thin line between them, at which point one of the assistants would instruct them to open the top of the ticket-dispensing machine and find where the roll had curled up inside. Some needed further guidance as to where the end of the roll was. I suspect these people also have a note attached to their clothes for the morning which says "Remember: trousers first, then shoes".
Waiting patiently, if not quietly, one young lady was talking to her friend about the sickness epidemics at her child's school. She told her friend quite earnestly how one child at the school was sick with "the neuro-virus". Why nobody had told this particular young lady just to refer to it as the "vomiting bug" like most mainstream media does, I don't know -- because confusing the norovirus with something that sounds like a brain disease is going to surely cause more harm than good.
They went on to discuss "the swine flu", and how "they say the swine flu might be like the plague, and kill loads of people". It wasn't clear in what sense it would be like the plague, whether it was in total number of deaths or fatalities as a percentage of the population. Nor did she elaborate who "they" were in this case, though I suspect it was either The Sun or The Daily Mail. What she was saying wasn't exactly wrong, there has been media speculation about how many deaths from the virus could be expected this winter, and of course there are conspiracies about eugenics (like those espoused by the rather wonderful David Icke). Just the same, these young ladies didn't seem especially concerned about the possibility of the plague.
Today, the freak brigade were out in force in the post office. I wasn't paying attention at first when I heard raised voices, but after a little while with the counter clerk was explaining to me how long I could expect a first class letter to take if I posted it today (off topic; this is an interesting development in customer service -- I am sure it is only in the last couple of weeks they have started mentioning this and checking you are OK with it) I started listening to what was going on in the line behind me.
From what I could gather, an older gentlemen was having a heated discussion with a much younger man about the younger man's child stroking his cat. What made the argument stranger was that the older gent insisted on calling the younger man "youngster", which coupled with a unique-sounding voice, made you wonder at first if it was someone pretending to be much older and stuffier than they really were. Either way, the young man was getting more enraged and kept telling the older gent to "f***ing turn around and mind your own business". And as I say, there was some argument about stroking his cat -- the young man apparently being angry the older gent hadn't let his child stroke the older gentleman's cat, and the older gent clarifying something along the lines of anybody was welcome to stroke his cat who asked. Perhaps the strife was over not asking permission first -- is it bad manners to touch someone else's cat without seeking permission first? -- or perhaps the child had gone into the man's garden to stroke the cat. I couldn't tell how this related to the older gent being told to mind his own business, perhaps there was a second, more private argument going on at the same time?
A concerned counter clerk shouted over to ask them if everything was OK, they seemed to dismiss her at first, but then the older gent -- whom I then got to see was dressed like a rambler and was carrying a hiking pole, much like the ones I used in Peru (and which don't actually do the same job as a walking stick) -- approached the counter clerk and told her he wanted to make an official complaint. I'm not sure complaining about another member of the public is really very effective. But despite her asking helpfully if everything was OK, she admitted to not having any kind of authority to be able to do something to help, such as calling security or taking the details of the complaint. Instead, he was instructed to go to the Bureau de Change desk for that. Which makes complete sense.
I'm going to be extra careful about stroking other people's cats now, it's clearly a minefield.
In other news, I have a job interview this week. A job doing communications within the public sector, and for which the recruitment process has been ponderously slow -- I was first contacted about it weeks ago, while I still had a job. I have mixed feelings about the job, part of it seems much too junior for me in terms of admin duties and placing stationery orders, but it would be in London and on more money than I was on before, and a job is a job right now.
While I'm out of work, I am trying to see what training I can get on to. I have expressed an interest to the powers-that-be in learning web design, graphic design, digital marketing and while we're learning stuff, I'd like to speak Spanish. It's not often you have the opportunity for free training, and I could potentially come out of this better qualified. On top of all of that, I am also looking at volunteering opportunities -- some local charities need PR, I need something to do. And finally I am looking at giving some time to volunteer at the hospital, being nice to people who need visitors and that kind of thing. It's a role I could potentially keep on even if I get a job quickly. I think I need to do more and be less self-involved.
Last week, I was sat in the benefits office. Waiting my turn. Smiling to myself every time someone sat down without taking a ticket first. They'd be told they needed to take a ticket, from the machine. But the machine appeared to have no tickets. There would be a moment when you'd see people hover on the edge of getting angry and mouthing off to the claims assistants, or getting more confused. You could almost see them physically teeter on the thin line between them, at which point one of the assistants would instruct them to open the top of the ticket-dispensing machine and find where the roll had curled up inside. Some needed further guidance as to where the end of the roll was. I suspect these people also have a note attached to their clothes for the morning which says "Remember: trousers first, then shoes".
Waiting patiently, if not quietly, one young lady was talking to her friend about the sickness epidemics at her child's school. She told her friend quite earnestly how one child at the school was sick with "the neuro-virus". Why nobody had told this particular young lady just to refer to it as the "vomiting bug" like most mainstream media does, I don't know -- because confusing the norovirus with something that sounds like a brain disease is going to surely cause more harm than good.
They went on to discuss "the swine flu", and how "they say the swine flu might be like the plague, and kill loads of people". It wasn't clear in what sense it would be like the plague, whether it was in total number of deaths or fatalities as a percentage of the population. Nor did she elaborate who "they" were in this case, though I suspect it was either The Sun or The Daily Mail. What she was saying wasn't exactly wrong, there has been media speculation about how many deaths from the virus could be expected this winter, and of course there are conspiracies about eugenics (like those espoused by the rather wonderful David Icke). Just the same, these young ladies didn't seem especially concerned about the possibility of the plague.
Today, the freak brigade were out in force in the post office. I wasn't paying attention at first when I heard raised voices, but after a little while with the counter clerk was explaining to me how long I could expect a first class letter to take if I posted it today (off topic; this is an interesting development in customer service -- I am sure it is only in the last couple of weeks they have started mentioning this and checking you are OK with it) I started listening to what was going on in the line behind me.
From what I could gather, an older gentlemen was having a heated discussion with a much younger man about the younger man's child stroking his cat. What made the argument stranger was that the older gent insisted on calling the younger man "youngster", which coupled with a unique-sounding voice, made you wonder at first if it was someone pretending to be much older and stuffier than they really were. Either way, the young man was getting more enraged and kept telling the older gent to "f***ing turn around and mind your own business". And as I say, there was some argument about stroking his cat -- the young man apparently being angry the older gent hadn't let his child stroke the older gentleman's cat, and the older gent clarifying something along the lines of anybody was welcome to stroke his cat who asked. Perhaps the strife was over not asking permission first -- is it bad manners to touch someone else's cat without seeking permission first? -- or perhaps the child had gone into the man's garden to stroke the cat. I couldn't tell how this related to the older gent being told to mind his own business, perhaps there was a second, more private argument going on at the same time?
A concerned counter clerk shouted over to ask them if everything was OK, they seemed to dismiss her at first, but then the older gent -- whom I then got to see was dressed like a rambler and was carrying a hiking pole, much like the ones I used in Peru (and which don't actually do the same job as a walking stick) -- approached the counter clerk and told her he wanted to make an official complaint. I'm not sure complaining about another member of the public is really very effective. But despite her asking helpfully if everything was OK, she admitted to not having any kind of authority to be able to do something to help, such as calling security or taking the details of the complaint. Instead, he was instructed to go to the Bureau de Change desk for that. Which makes complete sense.
I'm going to be extra careful about stroking other people's cats now, it's clearly a minefield.
In other news, I have a job interview this week. A job doing communications within the public sector, and for which the recruitment process has been ponderously slow -- I was first contacted about it weeks ago, while I still had a job. I have mixed feelings about the job, part of it seems much too junior for me in terms of admin duties and placing stationery orders, but it would be in London and on more money than I was on before, and a job is a job right now.
While I'm out of work, I am trying to see what training I can get on to. I have expressed an interest to the powers-that-be in learning web design, graphic design, digital marketing and while we're learning stuff, I'd like to speak Spanish. It's not often you have the opportunity for free training, and I could potentially come out of this better qualified. On top of all of that, I am also looking at volunteering opportunities -- some local charities need PR, I need something to do. And finally I am looking at giving some time to volunteer at the hospital, being nice to people who need visitors and that kind of thing. It's a role I could potentially keep on even if I get a job quickly. I think I need to do more and be less self-involved.
Friday, 29 May 2009
Peru
I leave for Peru today. After a week where as expected I did lose the cat without really getting to say goodbye properly) and get made redundant, I then fell down the stairs and injured myself. I'm lucky not to have broken or fractured anything, I am still walking with a noticeable limp.
If you'd like to follow my progress, you can with the day by day itinerary, but naturally there'll be no blog, email, Facebook or Twitter for about 10 days. I'll make up for it with pictures and journal extracts when I return.
This is it.
After months of planning and fundraising and training, today I set off to hike the Inca Trail.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
One foot in front of the other is an acceptable plan
I guess there's no other way to put it, other than "work continues to suck". I am today exactly one week away from my second consultation, where I will find out if I am "matched" to a position, "pooled" with a number of other candidates for one particular job, or simply made redundant. In my first consultation, I told them I considered myself at the level of "PR and Marketing manager" rather than Markting assistant. I also told them I wouldn't be willing to take a pay cut -- even though what I earn is good money outside of London, I don't see why I should consent to have them cut it, I should be looking to do better, not worse. I also told them that relocating wouldn't be an option if it made life more difficult or expensive for the girl getting to work in London every day. But that if they wanted me to relocate to London that would be ideal.
We have mixed feelings about living where we do. On one hand, it would be nice if the girl didn't have an hour's journey to work every day on packed commuter trains and tubes. It would be good if we could live in London and do all the wonderful things there are in this most amazing of cities, or could get home at night after doing these things. I know the girl didn't move clear across the world to live in the home counties. On the other hand, where we live is nice. It's pretty quiet, we have a big green in front of the house, trees in blossom and cats lying on sunny window ledges. Some people in London can pay more for a room or a small flat what we pay for a two bedroomed house, and the girl knows for her half of the rent in London she would probably see a room in a shared house.
I think if we really had the choice, there's other cities where we would rather live than London -- we'd live somewhere by the sea, like Bristol or Portsmouth or Southampton or Brighton. Or most of Australia. Sometimes it feels like some part of me is calling out to live by the water.
In other news, all else failed. The cat is dying. It wasn't his arthritis. It wasn't his teeth and it wasn't his gums. He wasn't depressed or upset that my parents had been away. He is just dying. A couple of weeks ago he had his dental appointment, and I was told his gums were inflamed. My parents fought with him to get his little cat antibiotics down him. He was also given shots of steroids.
When I met Mum for lunch last week she told me he was doing much better, but it seems her reports of his eating and getting out more were apparently exaggerated to make me happy. Hope has faded, and he has gone rapidly downhill.
When I last saw him he was all but refusing all food. He struggles to stand on his own or to walk, and spends most of the day and night just lying on his side. If you talk to him he's happy enough and purrs, but the vet says she thinks he has leukemia and there is nothing that can be done, other than more shots of steroids and vitamins. This is about where I started with his first visit, so I can't say I haven't been prepared. I asked Dad how much longer the vet gives the cat, because I don't want to come back from Peru to find the cat gone. He doesn't expect the cat to last until I leave, and I leave in just over a week from now.
The girl and I visited my parents for tea, mainly so they could see her cute new haircut but also so we could see them and see the cat. It's so sad to see him this close to the end, it's almost painful.
Next week could turn out to be a double-shot of fun if I lose my job and lose my cat. But I leave for Peru next Friday, and as with all things I have to be brave. If my knees are hurting so bad I can barely walk, I just have to keep going -- one foot in front of the other is an acceptable plan, and that can apply to many things. I just have to put my head down and keep going, sometimes, even if it is hard.
We have mixed feelings about living where we do. On one hand, it would be nice if the girl didn't have an hour's journey to work every day on packed commuter trains and tubes. It would be good if we could live in London and do all the wonderful things there are in this most amazing of cities, or could get home at night after doing these things. I know the girl didn't move clear across the world to live in the home counties. On the other hand, where we live is nice. It's pretty quiet, we have a big green in front of the house, trees in blossom and cats lying on sunny window ledges. Some people in London can pay more for a room or a small flat what we pay for a two bedroomed house, and the girl knows for her half of the rent in London she would probably see a room in a shared house.
I think if we really had the choice, there's other cities where we would rather live than London -- we'd live somewhere by the sea, like Bristol or Portsmouth or Southampton or Brighton. Or most of Australia. Sometimes it feels like some part of me is calling out to live by the water.
In other news, all else failed. The cat is dying. It wasn't his arthritis. It wasn't his teeth and it wasn't his gums. He wasn't depressed or upset that my parents had been away. He is just dying. A couple of weeks ago he had his dental appointment, and I was told his gums were inflamed. My parents fought with him to get his little cat antibiotics down him. He was also given shots of steroids.
When I met Mum for lunch last week she told me he was doing much better, but it seems her reports of his eating and getting out more were apparently exaggerated to make me happy. Hope has faded, and he has gone rapidly downhill.
When I last saw him he was all but refusing all food. He struggles to stand on his own or to walk, and spends most of the day and night just lying on his side. If you talk to him he's happy enough and purrs, but the vet says she thinks he has leukemia and there is nothing that can be done, other than more shots of steroids and vitamins. This is about where I started with his first visit, so I can't say I haven't been prepared. I asked Dad how much longer the vet gives the cat, because I don't want to come back from Peru to find the cat gone. He doesn't expect the cat to last until I leave, and I leave in just over a week from now.
The girl and I visited my parents for tea, mainly so they could see her cute new haircut but also so we could see them and see the cat. It's so sad to see him this close to the end, it's almost painful.
Next week could turn out to be a double-shot of fun if I lose my job and lose my cat. But I leave for Peru next Friday, and as with all things I have to be brave. If my knees are hurting so bad I can barely walk, I just have to keep going -- one foot in front of the other is an acceptable plan, and that can apply to many things. I just have to put my head down and keep going, sometimes, even if it is hard.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Capturing a moment
I'm a fraud, and a liar, and a phoney.
In my sidebar "about me", it claims I'm an artist. I've decided recently that I should face that this really isn't true. When is the last time I actually created anything? It's been almost a year since I painted anything -- my one and only picture, and I've been feeling disillusioned with photography.
I describe myself as a photographer, and I even tried to sell my pictures on canvas, but that idea never really got off the ground -- simply because my work was no more remarkable or special or interesting than anyone else's -- and it was less so than a lot of others.
I have mixed feelings about digital photography. I like the ability to instantly see the image, and it's hardly like I'm some kind of analogue purist, since I don't even know how to change a film, but it sometimes feels like with digital cameras everyone fancies themselves as an artist. I feel frustrated that everywhere we can go has already been seen, and now extensively photographed and uploaded to Flickr within hours.
What I used to feel distinguished my work was what I did with pictures -- I like to climb into places or seek out unusual angles, and then digitally manipulate images. Now everything just looks so immediately and unmistakeably Photoshop.
The tag line here attempts to pin down why I blog -- to avoid being that tree falling in a forest -- but sometimes it feels like reality is only what we can record. If you go to a concert, people are clambering over each other to get video and pictures, I know I've been so absorbed sometimes trying to get just the right looking picture that I've realised I was missing the whole reason I was there -- for the music. If a singer comes off the stage to meet the crowd, they must find it difficult to see the people for the forest of cameraphones. Is something only real if you can record it?
I was struck after the G20 protests when you saw photos or images of scenes like the alleged police brutality or the rioters storming the RBS building that in the background there are great swathes of people with their cameras.
Maybe I'm just jealous, and feel like I'm not good enough. I feel like I've stagnated and I can't reasonably call myself an artist any more, even though many would argue I had no right to call myself one to begin with.
I want to upgrade digital cameras, I want to learn to process and develop films and I want to feel like I'm creating again. I hate feeling average and I don't know how to find my way back.
In my sidebar "about me", it claims I'm an artist. I've decided recently that I should face that this really isn't true. When is the last time I actually created anything? It's been almost a year since I painted anything -- my one and only picture, and I've been feeling disillusioned with photography.
I describe myself as a photographer, and I even tried to sell my pictures on canvas, but that idea never really got off the ground -- simply because my work was no more remarkable or special or interesting than anyone else's -- and it was less so than a lot of others.
I have mixed feelings about digital photography. I like the ability to instantly see the image, and it's hardly like I'm some kind of analogue purist, since I don't even know how to change a film, but it sometimes feels like with digital cameras everyone fancies themselves as an artist. I feel frustrated that everywhere we can go has already been seen, and now extensively photographed and uploaded to Flickr within hours.
What I used to feel distinguished my work was what I did with pictures -- I like to climb into places or seek out unusual angles, and then digitally manipulate images. Now everything just looks so immediately and unmistakeably Photoshop.
The tag line here attempts to pin down why I blog -- to avoid being that tree falling in a forest -- but sometimes it feels like reality is only what we can record. If you go to a concert, people are clambering over each other to get video and pictures, I know I've been so absorbed sometimes trying to get just the right looking picture that I've realised I was missing the whole reason I was there -- for the music. If a singer comes off the stage to meet the crowd, they must find it difficult to see the people for the forest of cameraphones. Is something only real if you can record it?
I was struck after the G20 protests when you saw photos or images of scenes like the alleged police brutality or the rioters storming the RBS building that in the background there are great swathes of people with their cameras.
Maybe I'm just jealous, and feel like I'm not good enough. I feel like I've stagnated and I can't reasonably call myself an artist any more, even though many would argue I had no right to call myself one to begin with.
I want to upgrade digital cameras, I want to learn to process and develop films and I want to feel like I'm creating again. I hate feeling average and I don't know how to find my way back.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
Croc-wrestling wife-lob dancefloor kingpin's plea
I stumbled onto a story today. I wish I could say I literally stumbled upon, because I think SU is one of the coolest things since English muffins, but instead it was on my Google homepage.
Since my work got all nasty and/or clever and restricted access to a heap of sites, I can no longer access my Gmail in work. It used to be all I had to do was sign into my Google account, go into settings and then click on my email settings. There it would be, my email, looking all pretty and shiny and full of spam emails and very little else. I got so bored the other day I considered setting up a hotmail account just to reply to a spam email about helping them recover the fortune of the deceased president of Papua New Guinea, but I lost interest. I have a very short attention span, I remember one time -- oh look, wrestling...
Anyway, either because I got tech support to upgrade my machine to XP or because I updated Internet Explorer to the latest version (our company webpages don't work in Firefox, so I end up using IE for almost everything) I can't access Gmail at all now. BUT! I can log in to my Google account, which means I can see the snapshot of my inbox and know there is nothing to read in it. I can also see google reader and read the posts in it, so long as I don't try to visit Blogger or Wordpress. I have actually suggested that across the company marketers such as myself should have access to these sites, as well as access to online streaming radio, for media monitoring purposes. I don't think they bought it.
All of this is a very long-winded way of saying Google showed me this story: 'Let me use poo-flinging Roman siege engine against burglars'.
The story is about a man in Nottinghamshire who has been told by police he's not allowed to use his full-size medieval catipult to fire chicken shit at would-be burglars. And as a result of not using it, he got burgled.
The story has so many levels and angles, it's fantastic. On one hand, it's the heart-warming story of a man who has done many, many crazy things -- from firing his wife out of canons and over rivers, to accosting crocodiles who refuse to wrestle on cue. On another it's the classic British right-wing tabloid story of political correctness gone mad -- the man is under attack from criminals, but society is on the side of the crooks. The Daily Mail would have a field day with the story, or at least it would if it could somehow also blame the gays, single mothers and immigrants. If the man was being robbed by single, lesbian immigrants so much the better.
I also like the story because it raises interesting points about defending your property. It is within the law to use "reasonable force" to defend your property if you are, say, being burgled -- but the law also says this has to be proportionate. If you are being attacked by lunatic ninjas (real ones, not injured kangaroos) with samurai swords, does that mean you are legally within your right to grab your own Hattori Hanzo sword and take them on? If you were to hit an intruder with a frying pan, would you have to prove in court that you believed they might also have a large, blunt instrument? And of course, the timeless argument of what about guns.
The UK gun lobby claim that Government hysteria after tragedies such as Dunblane have meant that responsible gun owners are gun owners no more, but that illegal guns are now more plentiful on the UK streets than ever before. The criminal underworld is flooded with cheap weapons (funny, I wrote cheap women at first) from former Soviet countries and apparently it doesn't take much to find one of your own. If you were so inclined.
You could argue that it is entirely likely a burglar or robber on your property in the dead of night could have a gun -- so should you have a gun yourself? I remember back when I lived in Salt Lake City hearing about the town of Virgin, Utah, where it was illegal not to own a gun, with which to defend your property.
So what exactly is proportionate, then? One could argue this man wasn't hurling rocks or dead cows at people, only piles of crap -- but given his background, neither would be surprising. Perhaps it is more the booby-trapping of your poperty that is frowned upon -- would it be different if old Grumpy Joe had to run to his catapult in his dressing gown and manually load it?
What does this all mean? Is your home your castle, and do you have the right to defend it? Or is that what the police are for, tackling criminals and illegal activity, while you have the protection of locks and contents insurance? And aside from any of that, would you ever let someone fire you out of a canon?
Since my work got all nasty and/or clever and restricted access to a heap of sites, I can no longer access my Gmail in work. It used to be all I had to do was sign into my Google account, go into settings and then click on my email settings. There it would be, my email, looking all pretty and shiny and full of spam emails and very little else. I got so bored the other day I considered setting up a hotmail account just to reply to a spam email about helping them recover the fortune of the deceased president of Papua New Guinea, but I lost interest. I have a very short attention span, I remember one time -- oh look, wrestling...
Anyway, either because I got tech support to upgrade my machine to XP or because I updated Internet Explorer to the latest version (our company webpages don't work in Firefox, so I end up using IE for almost everything) I can't access Gmail at all now. BUT! I can log in to my Google account, which means I can see the snapshot of my inbox and know there is nothing to read in it. I can also see google reader and read the posts in it, so long as I don't try to visit Blogger or Wordpress. I have actually suggested that across the company marketers such as myself should have access to these sites, as well as access to online streaming radio, for media monitoring purposes. I don't think they bought it.
All of this is a very long-winded way of saying Google showed me this story: 'Let me use poo-flinging Roman siege engine against burglars'.
The story is about a man in Nottinghamshire who has been told by police he's not allowed to use his full-size medieval catipult to fire chicken shit at would-be burglars. And as a result of not using it, he got burgled.
The story has so many levels and angles, it's fantastic. On one hand, it's the heart-warming story of a man who has done many, many crazy things -- from firing his wife out of canons and over rivers, to accosting crocodiles who refuse to wrestle on cue. On another it's the classic British right-wing tabloid story of political correctness gone mad -- the man is under attack from criminals, but society is on the side of the crooks. The Daily Mail would have a field day with the story, or at least it would if it could somehow also blame the gays, single mothers and immigrants. If the man was being robbed by single, lesbian immigrants so much the better.
I also like the story because it raises interesting points about defending your property. It is within the law to use "reasonable force" to defend your property if you are, say, being burgled -- but the law also says this has to be proportionate. If you are being attacked by lunatic ninjas (real ones, not injured kangaroos) with samurai swords, does that mean you are legally within your right to grab your own Hattori Hanzo sword and take them on? If you were to hit an intruder with a frying pan, would you have to prove in court that you believed they might also have a large, blunt instrument? And of course, the timeless argument of what about guns.
The UK gun lobby claim that Government hysteria after tragedies such as Dunblane have meant that responsible gun owners are gun owners no more, but that illegal guns are now more plentiful on the UK streets than ever before. The criminal underworld is flooded with cheap weapons (funny, I wrote cheap women at first) from former Soviet countries and apparently it doesn't take much to find one of your own. If you were so inclined.
You could argue that it is entirely likely a burglar or robber on your property in the dead of night could have a gun -- so should you have a gun yourself? I remember back when I lived in Salt Lake City hearing about the town of Virgin, Utah, where it was illegal not to own a gun, with which to defend your property.
So what exactly is proportionate, then? One could argue this man wasn't hurling rocks or dead cows at people, only piles of crap -- but given his background, neither would be surprising. Perhaps it is more the booby-trapping of your poperty that is frowned upon -- would it be different if old Grumpy Joe had to run to his catapult in his dressing gown and manually load it?
What does this all mean? Is your home your castle, and do you have the right to defend it? Or is that what the police are for, tackling criminals and illegal activity, while you have the protection of locks and contents insurance? And aside from any of that, would you ever let someone fire you out of a canon?
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Carol Brown just took a bus out of town -- but I'm hoping that you'll stick around
Since we heard about the imminent merger, things haven't been the same in work. It's the constant topic of conversation -- who will keep their jobs, where will the new company be based, how rubbish the company is that is being merged with ours, how the new MD isn't like the old one, and on and on and on.
I go from hopeless despair to reassuring myself that a decision such as this would have enormous marketing and PR applications, which the one employee in the other company would surely be unable to handle on their own -- meaning there would surely be a need for me, and my mad media skillz.
But the truth is you really can't tell. At first I was wondering if it was my punishment for leaving the purchasing department -- since purchasing was responsible for three counties instead of just ours it wasn't going to be affected. Then this week they were all told of the cost cutting measures and streamlining initiatives for efficiency that would be affecting them. More departments being merged into larger bodies, meaning job losses for them, too. My own risk of redundancy is a scary one, since I wouldn't get a redundancy payout -- having only started the job six months ago, they need only give me a month's notice.
The latter revelation has the girl really worried. I think it's shown how unstable everything is for me -- which makes our whole home situation very precarious. Her thinking goes along the lines of if I lose my job, we won't be able to pay the rent, and if we can't pay the rent then we'll have to end our tenancy agreement in May when it's up for renewal. From there, with no place to call our own anymore, the girl would have to find a share house in London and I'd end up back with my parents again. So, back to square one -- or really, worse than square one.
The girl's worries aren't helped by a heap of other things playing on her mind -- long work hours, being tired of commuting from Essex to London, and missing Australia. Living together has been a new experience for us both, and you can't help but wonder if she might sometimes imagine the grass to be greener on the other side of the fence -- having nobody to answer to, and not having your own living situation risked by someone else. The girl sometimes seems disillusioned with life in England, and I occasionally worry that it's partly because of me -- living in Essex means she misses out on the London life and seeing her London friends. She is working on it though -- trying to get out more, make plans to see friends more and socialise more with work colleagues when she gets the chance. She is also making interesting plans for when I'm gallavanting up Andean mountains.
Last Autumn, the economic downturn didn't much concern me. For the first time in my life I felt I had got a "real" job on a contract, the girl and I got ourselves a house to rent, and if anything VAT cuts and falling fuel prices were welcome. It didn't take the universe long to rob me of my smugness. Christmas was almost cancelled when it looked like my brother was going to have to declare bankruptcy and fold his business, threatening to leave him and his family homeless. Everyone was feeling the pinch, and were putting off paying their bills until the New Year -- but this meant he wasn't getting what he was owed, and relied on. Luckily, a client who owed him a large sum of money did pay up in time. But it showed me how close to home these things can get.
It's only a few months on, and though he didn't have to go bankrupt, my brother had to sell his business to his wife's uncle -- which saved any job losses for him and his own employees. My sister in law is now being made redundant, putting them again on the edge.
The recession is biting in other areas, too. While the girl is assured she is safe in her job, that her company won't be making any redundancies at her level at least, the British government have decided to tighten up on immigration. Gone is the option of a Skilled Migrant visa for the girl, since they now require a Master's Degree, and there is rumours on the wind that sponsored work visas are being refused, also. We're hoping that the girl's position there is a more secure one -- she will have been working for the company for a year already, and they have a team of lawyers for this kind of thing, so it isn't like she is coming fresh to these shores and hoping for a sponsored work visa.
The worst case scenario for the latter is the girl returns to Perth, and I apply for a working holiday visa down under. We'd be eligible to apply for spousal visas if we lived together for another year, then we wouldn't need to worry about governments tearing us apart.
We hope for now I don't get made redundant, or get offered a job elsewhere in the country -- the purchasing team were offered alternate positions in Glasgow and Oldham, if they were also willing to take a paycut of a third with the positions. And if I can manage to not only keep my job, but keep it where we are living, then we just have to cross our fingers that the men in Whitehall (or whoever decides these things) don't clamp down too much on work visas for cute Aussie girls.
And just to lighten the tone, today's title comes from this song:
I go from hopeless despair to reassuring myself that a decision such as this would have enormous marketing and PR applications, which the one employee in the other company would surely be unable to handle on their own -- meaning there would surely be a need for me, and my mad media skillz.
But the truth is you really can't tell. At first I was wondering if it was my punishment for leaving the purchasing department -- since purchasing was responsible for three counties instead of just ours it wasn't going to be affected. Then this week they were all told of the cost cutting measures and streamlining initiatives for efficiency that would be affecting them. More departments being merged into larger bodies, meaning job losses for them, too. My own risk of redundancy is a scary one, since I wouldn't get a redundancy payout -- having only started the job six months ago, they need only give me a month's notice.
The latter revelation has the girl really worried. I think it's shown how unstable everything is for me -- which makes our whole home situation very precarious. Her thinking goes along the lines of if I lose my job, we won't be able to pay the rent, and if we can't pay the rent then we'll have to end our tenancy agreement in May when it's up for renewal. From there, with no place to call our own anymore, the girl would have to find a share house in London and I'd end up back with my parents again. So, back to square one -- or really, worse than square one.
The girl's worries aren't helped by a heap of other things playing on her mind -- long work hours, being tired of commuting from Essex to London, and missing Australia. Living together has been a new experience for us both, and you can't help but wonder if she might sometimes imagine the grass to be greener on the other side of the fence -- having nobody to answer to, and not having your own living situation risked by someone else. The girl sometimes seems disillusioned with life in England, and I occasionally worry that it's partly because of me -- living in Essex means she misses out on the London life and seeing her London friends. She is working on it though -- trying to get out more, make plans to see friends more and socialise more with work colleagues when she gets the chance. She is also making interesting plans for when I'm gallavanting up Andean mountains.
Last Autumn, the economic downturn didn't much concern me. For the first time in my life I felt I had got a "real" job on a contract, the girl and I got ourselves a house to rent, and if anything VAT cuts and falling fuel prices were welcome. It didn't take the universe long to rob me of my smugness. Christmas was almost cancelled when it looked like my brother was going to have to declare bankruptcy and fold his business, threatening to leave him and his family homeless. Everyone was feeling the pinch, and were putting off paying their bills until the New Year -- but this meant he wasn't getting what he was owed, and relied on. Luckily, a client who owed him a large sum of money did pay up in time. But it showed me how close to home these things can get.
It's only a few months on, and though he didn't have to go bankrupt, my brother had to sell his business to his wife's uncle -- which saved any job losses for him and his own employees. My sister in law is now being made redundant, putting them again on the edge.
The recession is biting in other areas, too. While the girl is assured she is safe in her job, that her company won't be making any redundancies at her level at least, the British government have decided to tighten up on immigration. Gone is the option of a Skilled Migrant visa for the girl, since they now require a Master's Degree, and there is rumours on the wind that sponsored work visas are being refused, also. We're hoping that the girl's position there is a more secure one -- she will have been working for the company for a year already, and they have a team of lawyers for this kind of thing, so it isn't like she is coming fresh to these shores and hoping for a sponsored work visa.
The worst case scenario for the latter is the girl returns to Perth, and I apply for a working holiday visa down under. We'd be eligible to apply for spousal visas if we lived together for another year, then we wouldn't need to worry about governments tearing us apart.
We hope for now I don't get made redundant, or get offered a job elsewhere in the country -- the purchasing team were offered alternate positions in Glasgow and Oldham, if they were also willing to take a paycut of a third with the positions. And if I can manage to not only keep my job, but keep it where we are living, then we just have to cross our fingers that the men in Whitehall (or whoever decides these things) don't clamp down too much on work visas for cute Aussie girls.
And just to lighten the tone, today's title comes from this song:
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Jupiter in space agencies' sights
I've been teh suck and not updated nearly enough recently. 
I can report that my recent foray into not taking medication has ended. That is, after relying instead on vigorous exercise and strength of character, I have given and gone back. I was beginning to feel decidedly shit and unable to cope at times, so I decided enough was enough. Since I have restarted I still have my moments: short spells of despair, almost sickening bouts of worry and anxiety, but overall I am much better off. We have to admit that there is "something wrong" with me, and really there's no getting around it. It's a little depressing in itself to have to admit it. It might well be a brain 'chemical' thing -- some people are diabetic, or anaemic, and reliant on certain supplements of whatever kind. Perhaps I have a defective brain in a similar sort of way. For the record, I have begun to wonder when I am not taking my medication if previous medical professional diagnoses of bipolar disorder might not have been too wide of the mark. But either way, it doesn't matter.
Also in the news here this week is that despite every intention of leaving my body to medical science -- albeit while I am still very much alive and kicking -- has also met with failure. I was invited to attend a screening for a trial that would have paid me about two grand for my time, trialling a drug for Alzheimer's and ADD. But the time they wanted was about two weeks, and there was no way I could take it off work. This week I discovered that I have no holiday left whatsoever to take this tax year, and only have 13 days available to me to take between April and October. This means most likely that the time I spend in Peru I am going to have to take as unpaid leave -- I can consider that my own charitable contribution.
The obvious drawback of not being able to take part in a clinical drug trial is it is going to be a lot harder to earn money quickly. Possibly less unpleasant, maybe even safer, but more difficult.
I'm still resentful of my car needing £700+ worth of repairs at Christmas. It's no use crying over spilled milk, but I would never have chosen to spend that money frivolously -- not that keeping my car on the road is frivolous. But sometimes I think "I could have bought a great big television with that money, but I wouldn't have" or I think how I could fly to Barcelona and back like 6 times for that amount. Sometimes I go into a record shop just to browse, and I will pause over a CD -- I don't buy myself things often, I'll think. But then the idea of spending the money for no reason makes me feel ill, and I put it back. Like I say -- crying over it (like I did at the time, to my shame) doesn't change a thing, and the girl and I need a car for a whole host of reasons, so it was important. But that doesn't stop me resenting it. Stupid to resent an inanimate object, I know.
Speaking of work and earning money... Dedicated readers who have read my old posts, or longer term followers who have been with me for longer, may remember a post last October when I gleefully announced having got a job. I opened the champagne for dinner with the girl -- a special bottle I had been saving for when I got what I considered a "proper" job, a job that I wanted and wasn't just a stopgap, and that I felt was advancing my career. It was a year's contract, but a bloody good opportunity just the same. We remember? Good.
On Tuesday a notice went out on email to all office staff that there would be a briefing from the MD at 1430 in the conference room. Nobody was sure what it was about, but we were under no illusions: it wasn't going to be good news. I did speculate that perhaps with all the budget cuts and general "credit crunch" doom and gloom they would be announcing that in order to try and cheer up staff and raise morale they would be buying us an office kitten. Shockingly, this was not what the announcement was. In the minutes before the meeting, word got out that there was to be a merger. Nobody was quite sure whether to believe it, or what the details were. I then got blind-copied into an emailed press release from my head of PR. The release was going out to all trade press, announcing the merging of my company and a neighbouring region's.
There was lots of words like cost savings and efficiencies and stream linings, but the important thing to those of us in the office -- and presumably the other region's offices -- is that there are going to be job losses. We expect a lot of the job losses will be higher up -- there will be duplication of various positions, but nobody feels they are safe. We don't know when cuts will be, and we don't even know where this new amalgamated company will be based.
I feel particularly unsettled as my position was only "interim" to begin with. I've had the uncertainty that if the girl whose job I am doing wants to come back after maternity leave, then I would have to find my own way. Now it's impossible to know what will happen to me or to my job, cue random bouts of despair and almost sickening spells of anxiety and worry. I felt very fortunate to get this job, I felt so many times I had been passed over or fallen at the last hurdle when applying for jobs I could do so well -- this to me represented so much. Now I'm afraid it's all going to disappear again.
Up until now, I hadn't been directly or personally too affected by the now-official recession. Fuel costs have fallen by 25%; this meant I had more spare money. VAT was cut: again, more money for me. I was still getting paid the same. But of course it couldn't last forever. I was never unaffected, for months my older brother has been on the brink of bankruptcy -- to the point where my parents have given him all of their savings and more to keep him afloat. Finally he has had to give up ownership of his business, but luckily has escaped bankruptcy. So I was never completely unaffected -- just the same, when it's suddenly your own company, and you and your own colleagues looking at possible redundancy, you feel the impact.
I don't know why I thought I would get away unscathed. I've friends who have been made redundant two or three times in recent years, my own Mum has been made redundant at least twice -- although she usually manages to come back brighter. Which isn't bad for someone with a history of depression themselves.
Anyway. Without ending the post with thoughts of doom, gloom or the like I am pleased to report that having the girl's love and support makes a world of difference, and the next post should really be about valentine's day...
P.S. You haven't missed anything, this post doesn't have anything to do with Jupiter. I was just stuck for a title so I used a news headline.
I can report that my recent foray into not taking medication has ended. That is, after relying instead on vigorous exercise and strength of character, I have given and gone back. I was beginning to feel decidedly shit and unable to cope at times, so I decided enough was enough. Since I have restarted I still have my moments: short spells of despair, almost sickening bouts of worry and anxiety, but overall I am much better off. We have to admit that there is "something wrong" with me, and really there's no getting around it. It's a little depressing in itself to have to admit it. It might well be a brain 'chemical' thing -- some people are diabetic, or anaemic, and reliant on certain supplements of whatever kind. Perhaps I have a defective brain in a similar sort of way. For the record, I have begun to wonder when I am not taking my medication if previous medical professional diagnoses of bipolar disorder might not have been too wide of the mark. But either way, it doesn't matter.
Also in the news here this week is that despite every intention of leaving my body to medical science -- albeit while I am still very much alive and kicking -- has also met with failure. I was invited to attend a screening for a trial that would have paid me about two grand for my time, trialling a drug for Alzheimer's and ADD. But the time they wanted was about two weeks, and there was no way I could take it off work. This week I discovered that I have no holiday left whatsoever to take this tax year, and only have 13 days available to me to take between April and October. This means most likely that the time I spend in Peru I am going to have to take as unpaid leave -- I can consider that my own charitable contribution.
The obvious drawback of not being able to take part in a clinical drug trial is it is going to be a lot harder to earn money quickly. Possibly less unpleasant, maybe even safer, but more difficult.
I'm still resentful of my car needing £700+ worth of repairs at Christmas. It's no use crying over spilled milk, but I would never have chosen to spend that money frivolously -- not that keeping my car on the road is frivolous. But sometimes I think "I could have bought a great big television with that money, but I wouldn't have" or I think how I could fly to Barcelona and back like 6 times for that amount. Sometimes I go into a record shop just to browse, and I will pause over a CD -- I don't buy myself things often, I'll think. But then the idea of spending the money for no reason makes me feel ill, and I put it back. Like I say -- crying over it (like I did at the time, to my shame) doesn't change a thing, and the girl and I need a car for a whole host of reasons, so it was important. But that doesn't stop me resenting it. Stupid to resent an inanimate object, I know.
Speaking of work and earning money... Dedicated readers who have read my old posts, or longer term followers who have been with me for longer, may remember a post last October when I gleefully announced having got a job. I opened the champagne for dinner with the girl -- a special bottle I had been saving for when I got what I considered a "proper" job, a job that I wanted and wasn't just a stopgap, and that I felt was advancing my career. It was a year's contract, but a bloody good opportunity just the same. We remember? Good.
On Tuesday a notice went out on email to all office staff that there would be a briefing from the MD at 1430 in the conference room. Nobody was sure what it was about, but we were under no illusions: it wasn't going to be good news. I did speculate that perhaps with all the budget cuts and general "credit crunch" doom and gloom they would be announcing that in order to try and cheer up staff and raise morale they would be buying us an office kitten. Shockingly, this was not what the announcement was. In the minutes before the meeting, word got out that there was to be a merger. Nobody was quite sure whether to believe it, or what the details were. I then got blind-copied into an emailed press release from my head of PR. The release was going out to all trade press, announcing the merging of my company and a neighbouring region's.
There was lots of words like cost savings and efficiencies and stream linings, but the important thing to those of us in the office -- and presumably the other region's offices -- is that there are going to be job losses. We expect a lot of the job losses will be higher up -- there will be duplication of various positions, but nobody feels they are safe. We don't know when cuts will be, and we don't even know where this new amalgamated company will be based.
I feel particularly unsettled as my position was only "interim" to begin with. I've had the uncertainty that if the girl whose job I am doing wants to come back after maternity leave, then I would have to find my own way. Now it's impossible to know what will happen to me or to my job, cue random bouts of despair and almost sickening spells of anxiety and worry. I felt very fortunate to get this job, I felt so many times I had been passed over or fallen at the last hurdle when applying for jobs I could do so well -- this to me represented so much. Now I'm afraid it's all going to disappear again.
Up until now, I hadn't been directly or personally too affected by the now-official recession. Fuel costs have fallen by 25%; this meant I had more spare money. VAT was cut: again, more money for me. I was still getting paid the same. But of course it couldn't last forever. I was never unaffected, for months my older brother has been on the brink of bankruptcy -- to the point where my parents have given him all of their savings and more to keep him afloat. Finally he has had to give up ownership of his business, but luckily has escaped bankruptcy. So I was never completely unaffected -- just the same, when it's suddenly your own company, and you and your own colleagues looking at possible redundancy, you feel the impact.
I don't know why I thought I would get away unscathed. I've friends who have been made redundant two or three times in recent years, my own Mum has been made redundant at least twice -- although she usually manages to come back brighter. Which isn't bad for someone with a history of depression themselves.
Anyway. Without ending the post with thoughts of doom, gloom or the like I am pleased to report that having the girl's love and support makes a world of difference, and the next post should really be about valentine's day...
P.S. You haven't missed anything, this post doesn't have anything to do with Jupiter. I was just stuck for a title so I used a news headline.
Monday, 2 February 2009
Musical Monday #32
In 1994, I was 13 years old. What was on my mind at age 16, what was important in my life, what made me happy and what worried me -- all of this is largely forgotten to me now. I guess music was important to me, and girls. So what else is new.In April of 1994, on the day Kurt Cobain died, I was walking to school with a friend, just like any other day. He told me Cobain was dead, and I didn't know who it was. I'm not cool enough to say that I was a huge fan and had a candle-lit vigil for him. My friend told me Cobain was "the guitarist" for a band called Nirvana. This meant nothing more to me than it had done a few moments before. Had I heard of them? Probably, yes. Had I heard anything by them? Unlikely.
I was 16 when I did.
My friend John and I had formed a band. Just the two of us. We could barely play, but we wanted a drummer. We recruited this obnoxious half-wit called Tim, who had a lot of power and strength but no natural flair or subtlety. What he did bring to the band was Nirvana. He liked them, we didn't know them. Over the summer, he lent John a couple of VHS recordings from MTV, of Nirvana Unplugged and Nirvana, Live and Loud. John also copied a Nirvana album from a cousin he had. A casette copy of a copy of a copy.
I take some music snobbery pride in knowing this album and the first material I ever heard by Nirvana was their debut album, Bleach. It sounded dark and dirty, grunge was the made-up genre used to describe their style, and the word seemed fitting. Detuned guitars and a sound like aural sludge. It was unlike anything I'd ever heard. Gone were the guitar solos of Aerosmith and Guns N' Roses, the theatrics and the pomposity.
We listened to it all, I'd watch Unplugged over breakfast, with my cornflakes.
Bleach was fucked up, Nevermind the difficult second album that the original fans felt was a sell-out, In Utero was my favourite at the time -- with better production than the debut, and less radio-friendly than the follow-up.
At that age, Cobain's untimely death at 27 seemed a world away. I could objectively acknowledge that he had "died young", but at the same time 27 was adult, grown up. He had a wife, and a child, and I won't give any oxygen to the claims of conspiracy and murder, because I don't much care.
Today I turned 28, having outlived Cobain, along with Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Brian Jones -- not mention various others. He doesn't seem so fully grown to me any more.I have more or less grown out of listening to Nirvana, in time. The rage and angst of their music got a little old, although I still like to dig out their albums from time to time, and still roll my eyes at commercial stations playing the listener-friendly In Bloom, or Smells Like Teen Spirit, the latter being every bit the Pixies rip off that Nirvana said it was.
Heart Shaped Box
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Action is his reward
I stopped taking my tablets. There usually comes a time about once a year that I decide to go it alone -- that whether or not I feel I need some sort of supplement or whatever, I usually come to some sort of a decision to break free.
This time I've been lucky. The tablets weren't a prescription medication so much as a herbal alternative, and the withdrawal has been much easier and less severe than previous times. I don't know how long these things take to completely leave your bloodstream, but in the past if I've forgotten them for a few days I'd notice a difference, so by now I should be clean.
The reasoning why I've stopped is a little harder to explain.
Since I started this job back in October, I've been on emergency tax, and so been paying out far too much to the Inland Revenue. As a result of this and things like Christmas I've had less money than I'd have liked. I've got a large-ish credit card debt to pay, since in December I had to pay for almost £700 worth of repairs to my car to get it roadworthy, and I'm saving money to get me to Australia this year. When I got paid this month, I must have already been £400 overdrawn on my account, so once I'd paid money for bills, rent, food into my joint account with the girl, I didn't have a whole let left. At first I thought what I did have would be plenty -- then I realised it still had to cover all my own personal expenses for things like mobile phone bills, car insurance, dental insurance...
Not wanting to be in debt again when I get paid next month, I've started to look into my options for earning some spare cash -- just to take care of the little extras. One quick way to earn a lump sum of money seems to be clinical drug trials. Does anybody remember the incident a couple of years back then the volunteers in a drug trial all suffered horrendous consequences and terrible pain? As a result of the media coverage from this nasty accident, volunteers for trials have actually increased -- because people have found out how much you can earn by doing them. I spoke to someone last week about a trial that would have paid about £1,500 for only three nights. This is above average, but just the same -- being a human guinea pig could clear my credit card debt, buy my ticket to Australia, and still leave me with some left over for my monthly expenses.
Unfortunately, I was discouraged from taking the day off to go for the screening, because I'd mentioned on the phone I was taking these tablets, and then admitted to a history of depression. They thought such details would probably preclude me from the trial. So I'm now talking to other companies doing similar trials, and lying through my teeth about my history -- and have stopped the tablets. To be fair, I was worried how exactly I was going to manage to take them every day when I was thousands of feet up a mountain in the Andes, this coming June, and I'm interested to see if my new exercise regime will take their place well enough.
As for the exercise, I've become one of those crazy people who go the gym before work. It's weird, one day I was laughing about the very idea of getting out of bed earlier for the gym, then I ended up with a personal training session booked for a morning, and I was hooked. It's so much quieter, and the endorphins really set me up for the rest of the day. I'm now going about three times a week in the mornings, going to group classes in the evenings on at least two of those days, and fitting in more visits in between.
It's amazing what some kind of goal like the Inca Trail does for my motivation -- just wanting to be fitter, happier, look better in t-shirt only gets me so far, but knowing that every little bit of fitness will help me to enjoy Peru even more really spurs me on. I'm lifting weights, going to 'balance' classes for my core, my balance and my coordination, going to cardio 'body combat' classes again for balance and core, along with that important cardio health, and making random visits to the gym to tackle their punchbag when I have really shitty days. I've even started having dreams where I retreat to the quiet gym and a punchbag when things get to me.
For those that don't know about or don't read my Peru blog (which has been recently updated, following a despicable lapse), my fundraising to date has reached £2,100 -- and with more money promised to me that I haven't collected on yet, and another money-making event planned for before I leave, things are looking good. I see no reason to rest though, and want to raise every last bit I can. I'm currently hitting up local purveyors of hiking equipment to see if they can offer me any support, and wondering if I should cast my net wider still.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Oh my goodness, oh my soul
Over Christmas, I dreamed I was possessed by an evil demon.
It might sound funny, but it was quite distressing, at the time. The girl is always concerned when I have bad dreams, and I think she thought me a little strange when I asked her to reassure me the next morning that she didn't think I was possessed. The lovely, obliging girl indulged me, but with a bit of a strange look. I guess it's like dreaming you're a penguin, then asking your partner to confirm they don't think you're a penguin. Or something fictional, like a unicorn -- since to me those are about as real as demons.
It would be slightly inaccurate to say I grew up in a Catholic household. I didn't. My parents sent me to a Catholic school, and attended church weekly -- although with decreasing frequency as my brother and I got older. But I don't think they ever believed it themselves, they were just repeating their own upbringings. Just the same, I was quite a literal child and always expected God to speak to me. I expected to physically hear God's voice, out loud, and I remember slight puzzlement that it never came. A lot of the parables I heard at school I took completely literally and on face value, so I think in some ways their messages were slightly lost on me.
I'm sure that my own Dad became entwined with God in my developing mind, as it must do with so many others (except with their own Fathers, it would be creepy if everyone associated mine with God) -- something I strongly disagree with.
As I got older, I stopped expecting to hear the voice of God. But in my teens I became convinced on a number of occasions that God was telling me things. I didn't hear a voice and believe it was God's, but I had thoughts or ideas and I believed them to be divinely inspired. Which is weird, since I had a very on-off relationship with any sort of belief. I would believe that God wanted me to do things like go to war-torn former-Yugoslavia to do aid work (thankfully not missionary work), or sometimes that I should go without food, or that I should hurt myself.
There were other times when ideas would come to me -- such completely abhorrent things -- that would seem so completely outside of my own thought processes, that I wondered if there really could be something outside of myself, giving me these thoughts. I wonder now how quickly a doctor would have put me on anti-psychotic medications if I had thought to tell them. Or anyone.
It worked the other way, too -- I have always felt as if anything creative came from outside of myself, short story writing sometimes felt more like automatic writing, I had no idea what was going to be written until I wrote it. The mind is a curious and mysterious thing.
I was left feeling distinctly uneasy following my dream of demonic possession. I didn't like to see my reflection, the dark circles under my eyes reminded me of my own evil reflection I had seen. At least if you dreamed you were a penguin someone could give you a mirror and a picture of a penguin, and leave you to work it out for yourself from there.
Many people still do believe literally in demonic possession -- feel that things like alcoholism or depression or self harm or drug abuse or murderous rages are all caused by an evil spirit, hitchhiking on our souls. My friend Jon was one of those people, to an extent -- until he abruptly lost his faith last year. His family's bookshelves contained modern day accounts of exorcisms and possessions -- you'll be glad to know I never felt compelled to read any of them. I'd be interested to know what he makes of them all now.
I watched an exorcism live on TV once. It was broadcast late one night on Channel 4, and had been debated and vilified in the press for weeks. A man suffering from various problems and who had been exorcised before (in part, it seems he had a lot of uninvited guests) was going to be 'cured' right before your eyes. It spent ages building up, then cut to an ad break. Before it restarted after the break, there was a warning that the following could contain distressing scenes, people of sensitive dispositions should turn off, all that kind of thing.
The exorcism itself lasted perhaps 30 seconds, and was less distressing than most kids' tv programmes. In fact, nothing appeared to happen. Words were said, hands laid on, then it was over -- "Do you feel better now?" "Yes thanks, I'll get my coat" was essentially it. Even the presenters were left a bit not knowing what to do next. All that was left was to try and fill the remaining time with debate and scientific analysis -- an EEG analysis of his brain was looked at closely, and a small spike of activity was identified as the exact point that the evil spirit left him.
I think they'd been hoping for screaming and spitting and shouting and...other things beginning with the letter S. The sufferer admitted that, yes, it was quick and uneventful, but that previous exorcisms he'd had were much more exciting...
You'd have thought he could have at least put on a bit of a show.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
I want to live my life not survive my existence
So here we are, 2009.
It's time to take stock of where I am and where I'm going, but hopefully not so much of the looking back over where I have been.
I start this new year living with an amazing and wonderful girl, in our very own (rented) house -- the first time I have lived away from home since I was a student. I've curbed my impulses to try and turn the house into a mini art gallery of my photography, with the philosophy that less is more and all that -- plus nobody wants to see you endlessly stroking your ego, in the living room.
The house has its good points and bad points, but most important is that it is our space, where we can shut the door and escape the world.
In 2008 I had a bunch of goals -- rather than resolutions, it's what all the cool kids are doing these days. I aimed to get a new job, to move out of home, to travel to Spain and learn to speak Spanish, and I think to learn to snowboard properly. I own my own board, and I can't even turn properly -- so I can carve up a storm downhill and look damn cool with it, but I am in trouble with corners, with bends. That one never happened. I tried to sell the board, and failed -- this happens every year.
I started the new year working in a book shop, and enjoying it -- I loved recommending books and authors to people, enjoyed literally running off up the stairs to find something, and lived for the occasions when someone would ask me for the poetry section. But the money was bad, there weren't enough hours, and it being only a seasonal job I hadn't learned how the novelty would wear off. Furthermore, there was nowhere to "go" with it.
When they called me one day and offered me a permanent job -- incidentally, the day of my aunt's funeral -- I turned them down. Mostly because the hours were bad. But part of me must have hoped for more. So I got that "new job" in fairly rapid order -- I went to see a recruiter, told her to find me a job, any job, went to an interview the following morning and started work right away. I was taken on for a 6 month contract, and was still working there 10 months later. I went four countless interviews for something better, and in the end didn't go any further than the other side of the office -- swapping a dull job in Purchasing for a more creative and interesting one in Marketing & PR.
I think we can safely say I beat that goal into submission.
I tried to learn Spanish, but motivation was lacking and I ended up with a Latin American Spanish course. I write this one off as a half, since I am able to order food and drink in Spanish, say "I speak/understand Spanish" very well, or a little, and the usual greetings and farewells. Needless to say I also went to Spain. The girl and I are regular customers here of the local tapas restaurant, and I long to take her to Spain.
And as mentioned at the start, I did move out of home. It took a new job, a tax rebate and a wonderful girl to help me do it -- but we did it together.
Where do we go from here? 2009 is a year of adventure. Anyone that's been here before or spoken to me for more than a couple of minutes should remember I am going to be hiking the Inca trail in Peru in June, raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. A couple of years back, I talked to a friend about doing it and doing it for charity -- but they said why bother, just raise the money and go on your own steam. I am glad that I decided to do it for charity after all -- but that's probably because I'm an attention-seeker. I am being healthily sponsored by my company, and have in turn been generating the publicity for them. But the Inca Trail isn't a goal -- it's happening, even if I have to be carried on the back of a llama, stinking of piss. That's either the llama, or me.
But what is a goal is to get fit for it. Properly fit. The fitter I can be for it, the more fun it will be -- completing it just isn't enough for me. If I can look great in a t-shirt while I do it, even better. I've rejoined the gym, and as of time of writing I am still in pain from my personal training session yesterday. My next is Friday morning, and I fear I am going to become one of those crazy people who hits the gym before going to work in the morning.
Speaking the language would be helpful, so I may also have to get that Latin American Spanish course again -- although apparently if you speak Castilian Spanish they understand it just fine, but think you sound all posh like a news-reader.
There is also adventures to be had in Australia, since the girl returns home to apply for a new visa this year -- and I will be joining her out there for fun times, before the two of us return, shivering, to England. Again, something I already plan to do can hardly be a goal, can it? But saving the £700+ for the airfare should be. I also plan to try and wheedle my way into an upgrade, but we shall see how that works out.
I've only been in this job since October, so it's too soon to be considering getting another -- although I am only contracted until October of this year, so I might not have a choice in it.
A year without any incidences of self harm would be good, as I can't remember a year since I was in my mid-teens or younger that there hasn't been an incident or two, though in more recent years it has got a lot better -- to be able to start 2010 saying I didn't deliberately, physically hurt myself the previous year would be good, although a little sad. Perhaps a goal should be to treat myself better? No doubt having rigorous exercise regimes and goals like Peru will certainly help, not to mention the love and support of the people around me.
And in closing, ladies and jellyspoons, my goal in 09 is to be more creative. Last year saw me take up painting -- if only for the one picture. But to conceive of and create a dramatic picture on a canvas, and then to have it exhibited as part of an art show, was a real achievement -- but my creativity is seriously lacking this year. I haven't done open mike poetry in years, let alone written anything new, and that epic zombie apocalypse masterpiece isn't going to write itself. But generally, I need to be more... Actually, no -- that's it, I just need to be more.
I want to live my life, not survive my existence.
It's time to take stock of where I am and where I'm going, but hopefully not so much of the looking back over where I have been.
I start this new year living with an amazing and wonderful girl, in our very own (rented) house -- the first time I have lived away from home since I was a student. I've curbed my impulses to try and turn the house into a mini art gallery of my photography, with the philosophy that less is more and all that -- plus nobody wants to see you endlessly stroking your ego, in the living room.
The house has its good points and bad points, but most important is that it is our space, where we can shut the door and escape the world.
In 2008 I had a bunch of goals -- rather than resolutions, it's what all the cool kids are doing these days. I aimed to get a new job, to move out of home, to travel to Spain and learn to speak Spanish, and I think to learn to snowboard properly. I own my own board, and I can't even turn properly -- so I can carve up a storm downhill and look damn cool with it, but I am in trouble with corners, with bends. That one never happened. I tried to sell the board, and failed -- this happens every year.
I started the new year working in a book shop, and enjoying it -- I loved recommending books and authors to people, enjoyed literally running off up the stairs to find something, and lived for the occasions when someone would ask me for the poetry section. But the money was bad, there weren't enough hours, and it being only a seasonal job I hadn't learned how the novelty would wear off. Furthermore, there was nowhere to "go" with it.
When they called me one day and offered me a permanent job -- incidentally, the day of my aunt's funeral -- I turned them down. Mostly because the hours were bad. But part of me must have hoped for more. So I got that "new job" in fairly rapid order -- I went to see a recruiter, told her to find me a job, any job, went to an interview the following morning and started work right away. I was taken on for a 6 month contract, and was still working there 10 months later. I went four countless interviews for something better, and in the end didn't go any further than the other side of the office -- swapping a dull job in Purchasing for a more creative and interesting one in Marketing & PR.
I think we can safely say I beat that goal into submission.
I tried to learn Spanish, but motivation was lacking and I ended up with a Latin American Spanish course. I write this one off as a half, since I am able to order food and drink in Spanish, say "I speak/understand Spanish" very well, or a little, and the usual greetings and farewells. Needless to say I also went to Spain. The girl and I are regular customers here of the local tapas restaurant, and I long to take her to Spain.
And as mentioned at the start, I did move out of home. It took a new job, a tax rebate and a wonderful girl to help me do it -- but we did it together.
Where do we go from here? 2009 is a year of adventure. Anyone that's been here before or spoken to me for more than a couple of minutes should remember I am going to be hiking the Inca trail in Peru in June, raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. A couple of years back, I talked to a friend about doing it and doing it for charity -- but they said why bother, just raise the money and go on your own steam. I am glad that I decided to do it for charity after all -- but that's probably because I'm an attention-seeker. I am being healthily sponsored by my company, and have in turn been generating the publicity for them. But the Inca Trail isn't a goal -- it's happening, even if I have to be carried on the back of a llama, stinking of piss. That's either the llama, or me.
But what is a goal is to get fit for it. Properly fit. The fitter I can be for it, the more fun it will be -- completing it just isn't enough for me. If I can look great in a t-shirt while I do it, even better. I've rejoined the gym, and as of time of writing I am still in pain from my personal training session yesterday. My next is Friday morning, and I fear I am going to become one of those crazy people who hits the gym before going to work in the morning.
Speaking the language would be helpful, so I may also have to get that Latin American Spanish course again -- although apparently if you speak Castilian Spanish they understand it just fine, but think you sound all posh like a news-reader.
There is also adventures to be had in Australia, since the girl returns home to apply for a new visa this year -- and I will be joining her out there for fun times, before the two of us return, shivering, to England. Again, something I already plan to do can hardly be a goal, can it? But saving the £700+ for the airfare should be. I also plan to try and wheedle my way into an upgrade, but we shall see how that works out.
I've only been in this job since October, so it's too soon to be considering getting another -- although I am only contracted until October of this year, so I might not have a choice in it.
A year without any incidences of self harm would be good, as I can't remember a year since I was in my mid-teens or younger that there hasn't been an incident or two, though in more recent years it has got a lot better -- to be able to start 2010 saying I didn't deliberately, physically hurt myself the previous year would be good, although a little sad. Perhaps a goal should be to treat myself better? No doubt having rigorous exercise regimes and goals like Peru will certainly help, not to mention the love and support of the people around me.
And in closing, ladies and jellyspoons, my goal in 09 is to be more creative. Last year saw me take up painting -- if only for the one picture. But to conceive of and create a dramatic picture on a canvas, and then to have it exhibited as part of an art show, was a real achievement -- but my creativity is seriously lacking this year. I haven't done open mike poetry in years, let alone written anything new, and that epic zombie apocalypse masterpiece isn't going to write itself. But generally, I need to be more... Actually, no -- that's it, I just need to be more.
I want to live my life, not survive my existence.
Sunday, 13 July 2008
Those who wear the clothes should be happy they're dressed
Dune recently said how we attract the things we fear the most. There are various contemporary philosophies agreeing with this -- from the cosmic ordering service and intention-manifestation to explanations more firmly rooted in Psychology. The end result is the same -- whether it's a fear of being left, a fear of never being loved, or a fear of failure, the time and energy you spend thinking about these things acts like a tractor beam, hastening their path towards you.
This post was originally written as one of my usual rants, whines or general complaints about feeling unemployable. While some people may convince themselves of everything from them being unlovable to the idea that aliens fathered their child, I get hung up about work. Which I guess is really the idea that I will never be good enough -- since I'm fairly sure if I didn't care what I could get and keep *some* job or another, yet never be satisfied. Actually, this last point is a post for another day: I think I continue to need therapy because no matter what changes in my life, I don't think I am going to be content (I say may I never be complete, I say may I never be content). There is some obstacle (mostly of my own creation, I don't doubt) that sits in my chest -- so even if I'm someday living in London with a good job, a girl who thinks I rock, and a cat, this feeling is unlikely to shift. I do emo so well it hurts. Which obviously is the whole point of doing it.
What it comes down to is why has "a job" or "a career" become so important? Is it just me that is hung up on it, or is it pressure from "society", exerting a force on many others? When people meet you, the first thing they ask you is "So what do you do?", friends and relatives always ask "What are you up to now?". We are defined by the jobs we do. But you are not your job. You are not the contents of your wallet, or how much money you have in the bank.
What would it be like if people just took any job that came along and nobody thought any more of work than that -- instead, people might meet for the first time and ask what their favourite song is, or what their hobbies are. What constitutes being a success? And will anything ever be enough to stop me considering myself a failure?
Anyway, clawing my way back to the post in hand -- I was feeling unemployable, then two interviews came through. When I decided the time had come to get back into the job market I updated who I thought were my trusted key recruiters -- a media recruiter, and someone who was less media orientate but appreciated my key skills. The latter thanked me for my update, and said to keep him updated with my progress. Gee, thanks mate -- you're meant to be the one looking for the jobs for me. The first was enthusiastic to hear from me, but told me that having not worked in PR for the last six months she wasn't optimistic about being able to find any work for me, since I'd found it difficult enough before. Was I willing to look a bit wider afield this time, she enquired? By all means. My CV was dutifully distributed among the whole of the recruitment consultancy -- resulting in the overwhelming interest from a whole one other recruiter.
The new recruiter, named Jake, found a marketing job that was less PR and more press office and which sounded great. Good location, good money, varied and interesting role. Unfortunately it was filled before they called me for interview. Next he found a job with a digital marketing agency to put me forward for. Time passed, and I heard nothing. I called him and he said that the person recruiting had been away but they were back now so things would start moving. And I still heard nothing. I'm pretty sure I left him a message one day which he didn't return. After I eventually gave up on the position, I was browsing one evening the job's board for the consultancy, seeing what was new. I saw a job I thought ticked all my boxes and I'd be perfect for -- only to find that the recruiter to contact about it was my good friend Jakey. I emailed him expressing my interest and asking his thoughts. He couldn't have been less interested himself, since he never bothered to reply. I unofficially ditched him and his motley crew of colleagues.
The search from there has been in fits and starts -- some days I'd find several jobs online and apply for them all, and receive no replies. Other days there'd be nothing that seemed to light my fuse. One day at work I was roused out my near-slumber that tends to be natural state during the 9 to 5 routine of working in purchasing -- roused by my silently vibrating mobile phone. I glanced at the display, saw it was a local number, and presumed it was the library probably calling to tell my Norwegian language course was available to pick up. When I played the voicemail I found it was instead the recruiter who had got me my illustrious job in purchasing -- having found a job in publishing she thought I'd be perfect for.
Over email, we discussed the job, I had her send me more information and told her to put me forward for it, although a couple of points bothered me -- the location was deeper into the Essex countryside than where I already am, and the pay was pretty low. By the middle of last week I was feeling pretty uninspired about work in general and less than optimistic about myself, I scoured the innernetz for more jobs (since I can't rely on recruiters to be any more useful than a chocolate teapot) and applied for one working for a design studio.
I was surprised when the publishers invited me for an interview, and still torn between being pleased (better job! better prospects! some sort of vague direction!) and being unsure (horrible travel! isolated location! no money!). Annoyingly two days before the interview, my internet died. No warning, seemingly no explanation -- the wireless network and router insisted they were working fine, but there was no internet. Other points in the house at first were still thinking they did have internet, until they caught on to the plan and decided the network didn't even exist. This continued on and off to the next day when I figured the problem was unlikely to be actually the internet but probably my router. Master reset time for the router. Guess who forgot to make a note of the specific details of the username and password? Pretty sure I had the details correct (and safe in the knowledge it was broken before I started the drastic measures) when I was still unable to connect, I called the ISP. Due to unusually high call volumes, the recorded message told me, there was to be a wait in excess of 15 minutes.
While on hold with the ISP on my mobile with one hand I was also trying to marinade pork steaks in piri-piri sauce, they caught me off-guard when they answered but things were quickly got under control. They were also quickly resolved when I found out that Microsoft's latest update had knocked out internet connections for anyone using the ZoneAlarm firewall -- and that I had inputted the wrong username details after the master reset. An uninstall and a correction later the internet was restored -- I felt like I had regrown a lost limb.
What I haven't mentioned was while I was trying to restore my internet my mobile signalled I had another call waiting, to which I responded "busy". After I hung up I noticed the dialling code was for central London, but suspected it was a health insurance company who had been calling me all week wanting to give me a quote -- the voicemail was instead inviting me for an interview with the design agency I had applied for a job with two nights previously. Suddenly I had gone from attracting the thing I feared most (failure) to two job interviews.
The interview with the publishers on Friday morning went well. They liked me and introduced me around to people in the office, I liked them and spoke enthusiastically about what they do and the role. I wasn't even back in the office before my recruiter was calling to say they wanted me to come for a second interview. Still battling my doubts on the job, but I am going to give it all I have and see where the flow of the energy takes me. The design agency job interview is on Tuesday, and I am a little intimidated by their work. I am not a designer by any stretch of the imagination, but in my defence they aren't recruiting for a designer -- they are recruiting for a publicity assistant or the like. Presumably, they've read my cover letter, they've looked at my CV, so they know what side my toast is buttered on. Still, it's going to take some more hardcore researching and self belief.
Whether you believe you can, or believe you can't, you'll be right.
UPDATE: I didn't get either job. Back to square 1.
This post was originally written as one of my usual rants, whines or general complaints about feeling unemployable. While some people may convince themselves of everything from them being unlovable to the idea that aliens fathered their child, I get hung up about work. Which I guess is really the idea that I will never be good enough -- since I'm fairly sure if I didn't care what I could get and keep *some* job or another, yet never be satisfied. Actually, this last point is a post for another day: I think I continue to need therapy because no matter what changes in my life, I don't think I am going to be content (I say may I never be complete, I say may I never be content). There is some obstacle (mostly of my own creation, I don't doubt) that sits in my chest -- so even if I'm someday living in London with a good job, a girl who thinks I rock, and a cat, this feeling is unlikely to shift. I do emo so well it hurts. Which obviously is the whole point of doing it.
What it comes down to is why has "a job" or "a career" become so important? Is it just me that is hung up on it, or is it pressure from "society", exerting a force on many others? When people meet you, the first thing they ask you is "So what do you do?", friends and relatives always ask "What are you up to now?". We are defined by the jobs we do. But you are not your job. You are not the contents of your wallet, or how much money you have in the bank.
What would it be like if people just took any job that came along and nobody thought any more of work than that -- instead, people might meet for the first time and ask what their favourite song is, or what their hobbies are. What constitutes being a success? And will anything ever be enough to stop me considering myself a failure?
Anyway, clawing my way back to the post in hand -- I was feeling unemployable, then two interviews came through. When I decided the time had come to get back into the job market I updated who I thought were my trusted key recruiters -- a media recruiter, and someone who was less media orientate but appreciated my key skills. The latter thanked me for my update, and said to keep him updated with my progress. Gee, thanks mate -- you're meant to be the one looking for the jobs for me. The first was enthusiastic to hear from me, but told me that having not worked in PR for the last six months she wasn't optimistic about being able to find any work for me, since I'd found it difficult enough before. Was I willing to look a bit wider afield this time, she enquired? By all means. My CV was dutifully distributed among the whole of the recruitment consultancy -- resulting in the overwhelming interest from a whole one other recruiter.
The new recruiter, named Jake, found a marketing job that was less PR and more press office and which sounded great. Good location, good money, varied and interesting role. Unfortunately it was filled before they called me for interview. Next he found a job with a digital marketing agency to put me forward for. Time passed, and I heard nothing. I called him and he said that the person recruiting had been away but they were back now so things would start moving. And I still heard nothing. I'm pretty sure I left him a message one day which he didn't return. After I eventually gave up on the position, I was browsing one evening the job's board for the consultancy, seeing what was new. I saw a job I thought ticked all my boxes and I'd be perfect for -- only to find that the recruiter to contact about it was my good friend Jakey. I emailed him expressing my interest and asking his thoughts. He couldn't have been less interested himself, since he never bothered to reply. I unofficially ditched him and his motley crew of colleagues.
The search from there has been in fits and starts -- some days I'd find several jobs online and apply for them all, and receive no replies. Other days there'd be nothing that seemed to light my fuse. One day at work I was roused out my near-slumber that tends to be natural state during the 9 to 5 routine of working in purchasing -- roused by my silently vibrating mobile phone. I glanced at the display, saw it was a local number, and presumed it was the library probably calling to tell my Norwegian language course was available to pick up. When I played the voicemail I found it was instead the recruiter who had got me my illustrious job in purchasing -- having found a job in publishing she thought I'd be perfect for.
Over email, we discussed the job, I had her send me more information and told her to put me forward for it, although a couple of points bothered me -- the location was deeper into the Essex countryside than where I already am, and the pay was pretty low. By the middle of last week I was feeling pretty uninspired about work in general and less than optimistic about myself, I scoured the innernetz for more jobs (since I can't rely on recruiters to be any more useful than a chocolate teapot) and applied for one working for a design studio.
I was surprised when the publishers invited me for an interview, and still torn between being pleased (better job! better prospects! some sort of vague direction!) and being unsure (horrible travel! isolated location! no money!). Annoyingly two days before the interview, my internet died. No warning, seemingly no explanation -- the wireless network and router insisted they were working fine, but there was no internet. Other points in the house at first were still thinking they did have internet, until they caught on to the plan and decided the network didn't even exist. This continued on and off to the next day when I figured the problem was unlikely to be actually the internet but probably my router. Master reset time for the router. Guess who forgot to make a note of the specific details of the username and password? Pretty sure I had the details correct (and safe in the knowledge it was broken before I started the drastic measures) when I was still unable to connect, I called the ISP. Due to unusually high call volumes, the recorded message told me, there was to be a wait in excess of 15 minutes.
While on hold with the ISP on my mobile with one hand I was also trying to marinade pork steaks in piri-piri sauce, they caught me off-guard when they answered but things were quickly got under control. They were also quickly resolved when I found out that Microsoft's latest update had knocked out internet connections for anyone using the ZoneAlarm firewall -- and that I had inputted the wrong username details after the master reset. An uninstall and a correction later the internet was restored -- I felt like I had regrown a lost limb.
What I haven't mentioned was while I was trying to restore my internet my mobile signalled I had another call waiting, to which I responded "busy". After I hung up I noticed the dialling code was for central London, but suspected it was a health insurance company who had been calling me all week wanting to give me a quote -- the voicemail was instead inviting me for an interview with the design agency I had applied for a job with two nights previously. Suddenly I had gone from attracting the thing I feared most (failure) to two job interviews.
The interview with the publishers on Friday morning went well. They liked me and introduced me around to people in the office, I liked them and spoke enthusiastically about what they do and the role. I wasn't even back in the office before my recruiter was calling to say they wanted me to come for a second interview. Still battling my doubts on the job, but I am going to give it all I have and see where the flow of the energy takes me. The design agency job interview is on Tuesday, and I am a little intimidated by their work. I am not a designer by any stretch of the imagination, but in my defence they aren't recruiting for a designer -- they are recruiting for a publicity assistant or the like. Presumably, they've read my cover letter, they've looked at my CV, so they know what side my toast is buttered on. Still, it's going to take some more hardcore researching and self belief.
Whether you believe you can, or believe you can't, you'll be right.
UPDATE: I didn't get either job. Back to square 1.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
The dangers of postcard porn
I was originally planning to write a post today about St George's Day -- or maybe referring back to the post I wrote about my associations with being English. But -- I'm not any more.
A "postcard porn for my wanderlust" post is overdue, since I have been sending and receiving cards through postcrossing and have a couple I want to upload and write about. This is now being given a new edge, however. When I get new postcards and I scan them in to post here and write about, I also post the images along with my brief comments to the appropriate Facebook group. I've never given it too much thought.
Once, someone commented that they thought it was rude of me to say that I thought a postcard I'd got was a bit disappointing. The disapproval is always for the sake of the potential sender seeing it and being upset, though, and I think the odds are stacked against this ever happening -- people often like to be offended on behalf of others. I accepted at the time that not knowing me or what I'm like would make the comment seem a lot worse than it was, and so deleted anything that would cause offence. And I thought no more about it.
I recently made friends with a Norwegian girl on Facebook, after she commented on a postcard I'd received from Finland. We should all know what I'm like about Norwegian girls, although if she had green eyes or not I never got around to asking. I didn't think too much of it, except we shared common interests -- like photography, and postcards, and she was an Aquarius.
Today, another random user commented on a German card I had posted, explaining to me what it said. I replied, thanking them for their help. Then, the Norwegian girl joined in the conversation. She felt it necessary to wade in with the comment that although she didn't want to have a go at me (or words to that effect, I've deleted the offending remark now so I can't check it) she thought that my comments on the cards I receive were often rude, and it would be unkind to the senders of these cards. She also told me that people don't know what to write on postcards and so it was that commenting about the weather wasn't just a British thing. She ended saying it was postcrossing and not penpals.
Well excuse me all to hell.
It was an honest question the times I have remarked on senders talking about the weather -- I haven't travelled a great deal and can't speak any foreign languages fluently (or much at all beyond "two beers, please") so I was unclear whether it was generally accepted that if you have to make small talk with an Englishman you should mention the weather, or if it was instead a universally-accepted subject. Perhaps some of my remarks may have seemed sarcastic -- like in this post where I remark that the Japanese sender tells me it is Autumn in Japan, which funnily enough it is in England, also.
I do say nice things about imagining this life in Japan so different from my own, but perhaps spoil it by saying I expect the sender is wearing one of those weird facemasks they're fond of in Japan when they have colds.
On browsing through the cards, in just this batch alone it doesn't end there. Here I make a risque reference to "the famous German sense of humour" and go on to mention that the people in the picture look like freaks.
There is also this card, where perhaps it's bad form to say that someone's self-described beautiful city doesn't look all that, or to say the postcard's caption gives me more detail about the city than the sender does.
I can see now how where such remarks should perhaps be confined to my blog, where the senders will never see them. They were intended to be humorous -- though I guess nobody but me ever saw them that way, even here. Although nobody else found them funny, what does that matter? I can say whatever the hell I like! If ever a sender did see one and took offence, I would apologise and explain what I meant. But I don't agree with being offended on behalf of someone else.
I hope that at least my handful of readers here know that if I sound mean or unkind you shouldn't take me seriously -- I love getting these cards in the post (otherwise I wouldn't do it), and I don't think I have ever said anything really offensive. If I say "I'm disappointed by this", then what is that other than my own feelings? Who knew there was so much politics involved. In future, all cards received will be posted here with full and unrestrained comments. But in every other public forum, there will be no comment that is anything more than factual.
And certainly no attempts at humour.
A "postcard porn for my wanderlust" post is overdue, since I have been sending and receiving cards through postcrossing and have a couple I want to upload and write about. This is now being given a new edge, however. When I get new postcards and I scan them in to post here and write about, I also post the images along with my brief comments to the appropriate Facebook group. I've never given it too much thought.
Once, someone commented that they thought it was rude of me to say that I thought a postcard I'd got was a bit disappointing. The disapproval is always for the sake of the potential sender seeing it and being upset, though, and I think the odds are stacked against this ever happening -- people often like to be offended on behalf of others. I accepted at the time that not knowing me or what I'm like would make the comment seem a lot worse than it was, and so deleted anything that would cause offence. And I thought no more about it.
I recently made friends with a Norwegian girl on Facebook, after she commented on a postcard I'd received from Finland. We should all know what I'm like about Norwegian girls, although if she had green eyes or not I never got around to asking. I didn't think too much of it, except we shared common interests -- like photography, and postcards, and she was an Aquarius.
Today, another random user commented on a German card I had posted, explaining to me what it said. I replied, thanking them for their help. Then, the Norwegian girl joined in the conversation. She felt it necessary to wade in with the comment that although she didn't want to have a go at me (or words to that effect, I've deleted the offending remark now so I can't check it) she thought that my comments on the cards I receive were often rude, and it would be unkind to the senders of these cards. She also told me that people don't know what to write on postcards and so it was that commenting about the weather wasn't just a British thing. She ended saying it was postcrossing and not penpals.
Well excuse me all to hell.
It was an honest question the times I have remarked on senders talking about the weather -- I haven't travelled a great deal and can't speak any foreign languages fluently (or much at all beyond "two beers, please") so I was unclear whether it was generally accepted that if you have to make small talk with an Englishman you should mention the weather, or if it was instead a universally-accepted subject. Perhaps some of my remarks may have seemed sarcastic -- like in this post where I remark that the Japanese sender tells me it is Autumn in Japan, which funnily enough it is in England, also.
I do say nice things about imagining this life in Japan so different from my own, but perhaps spoil it by saying I expect the sender is wearing one of those weird facemasks they're fond of in Japan when they have colds.
On browsing through the cards, in just this batch alone it doesn't end there. Here I make a risque reference to "the famous German sense of humour" and go on to mention that the people in the picture look like freaks.
There is also this card, where perhaps it's bad form to say that someone's self-described beautiful city doesn't look all that, or to say the postcard's caption gives me more detail about the city than the sender does.
I can see now how where such remarks should perhaps be confined to my blog, where the senders will never see them. They were intended to be humorous -- though I guess nobody but me ever saw them that way, even here. Although nobody else found them funny, what does that matter? I can say whatever the hell I like! If ever a sender did see one and took offence, I would apologise and explain what I meant. But I don't agree with being offended on behalf of someone else.
I hope that at least my handful of readers here know that if I sound mean or unkind you shouldn't take me seriously -- I love getting these cards in the post (otherwise I wouldn't do it), and I don't think I have ever said anything really offensive. If I say "I'm disappointed by this", then what is that other than my own feelings? Who knew there was so much politics involved. In future, all cards received will be posted here with full and unrestrained comments. But in every other public forum, there will be no comment that is anything more than factual.
And certainly no attempts at humour.
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
The universe should be my supermarket -- so why isn't it?
I read a book on Cosmic Ordering last week. The concept of it seems quite simple -- to ask the universe clearly and politely for what you want, give it a time frame for the delivery, and then away it goes. Apparently, you don't even have to necessarily believe the universe will deliver -- the author of the book I read said she placed her first "order" as a sceptic, to settle an argument with a friend who believed it. It also says that being tempted to reconfirm your orders or give them an extra "push" of energy from time to time is counter-productive. I'm not sure if these two ideas contradict one another -- the latter suggests you lack confidence in your order, but what does it matter if you don't even have to believe it?
I started out with a couple of small orders at first. I ordered "some interesting post" to arrive by the end of the week. I thought that was ambiguous enough -- it could be a surprise from a friend or a postcard or a letter or any number of things. I also requested an email from a particular friend within 24 hours.
At first, I thought it hadn't come through -- I went to bed without the email I had ordered. But the next morning, there it was waiting for me -- it had been delivered while I slept, so it still came through within the time period I specified. This left the interesting post. A day or two went past with nothing, but I had said by the end of the week -- and before the week was out, not one but two unexpected postcards from postcrossing arrived (I'll scan them another day for postcard porn).
Now, both of these could be considered a coincidence. I was owed an email by my friend, it wasn't completely out of the blue. I also probably was owed postcards from Postcrossing, too, since one I sent had just arrived -- although I can never work out Postcrossing, sometimes I am about five cards in credit compared to what I have sent, and sometimes it goes the other way. It rarely seems to be exactly equal -- like how with two cards turning up on exactly the same day. The book had an amusing analogy about thinking these things are coincidence -- imagine you order a sweater by mail order. The sweater arrives. You then call the mail order company and tell them that you don't believe the sweater you have received is the one you ordered and is in fact a sweater you already had -- furthermore you also believe that they still owe you the one you ordered. So I could choose to believe I ordered these things and they arrived, or I could believe they would have arrived anyway. One way makes you happy, the other doesn't.
Unfortunately my positive tales of orders received seems to end there. I have tried ordering a parking space I want at work -- but it never comes. I don't understand why. The other day I also wanted a pound coin for the coke machine, since I didn't have one. That didn't come either. I wasn't asking for a large sum of cash to magically appear, it seemed perfectly reasonable to find a pound coin just lying on the floor somewhere, or in a forgotten pocket. Why the hell did these things not work? I didn't put any more or less emphasis on them than my other options -- my consistent lack of the parking space I want doesn't ruin my day. So why one thing and not another?
I have asked the universe for the right job. I don't want to leave my current job quite yet, but it would be good if the universe could at least show me where I should go, so I can know what I am aiming towards. The trouble is, I don't know if the random ideas I get should be entertained or if it just seems like the grass is greener. Work is a blog post for another day right now. I've also thought it can't hurt to ask the universe to deliver the right person into my life. Like with the interesting post request, I trust the universe to know what is best for me -- better than I can. But I am also confident there that if this mystical bag of wonderful doesn't materialise out of thin air -- or better yet be a person already actively in my life in whatever way -- it's because I am not ready for it.
I am unsure about the mechanics of this ordering business. As I've said, I spend long afternoons pondering how it works if you can 'order' something without believing in it -- since this can't be the reason for not getting the things I order. I am almost certain that the power of positive thinking doesn't create some kind of magnet, rather you subconsciously create what you require and notice what is already around you. I like being thankful for the things in my life, but sometimes it feels just a little bit too much like I've gone full circle, and am back to praying and believing the things in my life have been given to me by some invisible, mystical force.
I don't accept that the universe doesn't deliver to me the things I secretly don't think I deserve -- while that might apply to work, girls, even success, it doesn't adequately cover why I don't get the trivial, little things either. I need to read more, I need to read around the subject perhaps -- I need to read it as it appears as Neural-Linguistic Programming, as well as in such contexts as Comsic Ordering, The Secret and Conversations With God -- all of which I believe talk about the same sort of intention-manifestation idea. I also clearly need to get right back to basics and return to my reading of the 20 Greatest Philosophy Books (helpfully contained in one, small, easy-to-read book).
In the meantime, I'd like to place a cosmic order for more money -- best of all in the form of a steady flow of people wanting to buy my artwork for a small profit.
Then, later on, monkeys might fly out of my butt.
I started out with a couple of small orders at first. I ordered "some interesting post" to arrive by the end of the week. I thought that was ambiguous enough -- it could be a surprise from a friend or a postcard or a letter or any number of things. I also requested an email from a particular friend within 24 hours.
At first, I thought it hadn't come through -- I went to bed without the email I had ordered. But the next morning, there it was waiting for me -- it had been delivered while I slept, so it still came through within the time period I specified. This left the interesting post. A day or two went past with nothing, but I had said by the end of the week -- and before the week was out, not one but two unexpected postcards from postcrossing arrived (I'll scan them another day for postcard porn).
Now, both of these could be considered a coincidence. I was owed an email by my friend, it wasn't completely out of the blue. I also probably was owed postcards from Postcrossing, too, since one I sent had just arrived -- although I can never work out Postcrossing, sometimes I am about five cards in credit compared to what I have sent, and sometimes it goes the other way. It rarely seems to be exactly equal -- like how with two cards turning up on exactly the same day. The book had an amusing analogy about thinking these things are coincidence -- imagine you order a sweater by mail order. The sweater arrives. You then call the mail order company and tell them that you don't believe the sweater you have received is the one you ordered and is in fact a sweater you already had -- furthermore you also believe that they still owe you the one you ordered. So I could choose to believe I ordered these things and they arrived, or I could believe they would have arrived anyway. One way makes you happy, the other doesn't.
Unfortunately my positive tales of orders received seems to end there. I have tried ordering a parking space I want at work -- but it never comes. I don't understand why. The other day I also wanted a pound coin for the coke machine, since I didn't have one. That didn't come either. I wasn't asking for a large sum of cash to magically appear, it seemed perfectly reasonable to find a pound coin just lying on the floor somewhere, or in a forgotten pocket. Why the hell did these things not work? I didn't put any more or less emphasis on them than my other options -- my consistent lack of the parking space I want doesn't ruin my day. So why one thing and not another?
I have asked the universe for the right job. I don't want to leave my current job quite yet, but it would be good if the universe could at least show me where I should go, so I can know what I am aiming towards. The trouble is, I don't know if the random ideas I get should be entertained or if it just seems like the grass is greener. Work is a blog post for another day right now. I've also thought it can't hurt to ask the universe to deliver the right person into my life. Like with the interesting post request, I trust the universe to know what is best for me -- better than I can. But I am also confident there that if this mystical bag of wonderful doesn't materialise out of thin air -- or better yet be a person already actively in my life in whatever way -- it's because I am not ready for it.
I am unsure about the mechanics of this ordering business. As I've said, I spend long afternoons pondering how it works if you can 'order' something without believing in it -- since this can't be the reason for not getting the things I order. I am almost certain that the power of positive thinking doesn't create some kind of magnet, rather you subconsciously create what you require and notice what is already around you. I like being thankful for the things in my life, but sometimes it feels just a little bit too much like I've gone full circle, and am back to praying and believing the things in my life have been given to me by some invisible, mystical force.
I don't accept that the universe doesn't deliver to me the things I secretly don't think I deserve -- while that might apply to work, girls, even success, it doesn't adequately cover why I don't get the trivial, little things either. I need to read more, I need to read around the subject perhaps -- I need to read it as it appears as Neural-Linguistic Programming, as well as in such contexts as Comsic Ordering, The Secret and Conversations With God -- all of which I believe talk about the same sort of intention-manifestation idea. I also clearly need to get right back to basics and return to my reading of the 20 Greatest Philosophy Books (helpfully contained in one, small, easy-to-read book).
In the meantime, I'd like to place a cosmic order for more money -- best of all in the form of a steady flow of people wanting to buy my artwork for a small profit.
Then, later on, monkeys might fly out of my butt.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Shavian wonderings and the air force
"Your pious mob fills up ballot papers and imagines it is governing its masters; but the ballot paper that really governs is the paper that has a bullet wrapped up in it.... when you vote you only change the names of the cabinet. When you shoot, you pull down governments, inaugurate new epochs, abolish old orders and set up new." George Bernard Shaw Major Barbara
I have my first "formal" interview for the Air Force on Monday, and I'm now wondering if the whole thing is a stupid idea. I remain sure that the discipline and structure would probably do a lot for me, and for how I view myself. I also think the role I would be carrying out as an officer would stimulate and challenge me, and that I could do the job very well.
So why the doubts?
I know people around me think it's an extraordinarily bad idea, or that I am just not suited to it at all. I get told that I'm a dreamer or that I'm too gentle (which feels a lot like being told I am effeminate) and that I couldn't handle it. It's no secret between me and my friends that I don't know if I could kill someone -- and surely that's quite important if you're looking to join the armed forces. There has also been doubts cast on if I would be able to handle emotionally people close to me dying.
I do have issues with being able to separate myself. It's funny, in a way -- sometimes I can be so detached from things, and sometimes I really don't feel like I attach to other people very well at all. But in other ways I can't put that distance there when I need to. As a journalist, I hated sitting in court hearings -- assaults, murders, abuse cases, I couldn't leave it at the door.
I should be preparing for this interview, and yet I feel incredibly uneasy when I am researching various air craft and read about their weapons capabilities. Maverick infrared missiles, cluster munitions, general purpose free-fall bombs... Does war determine who is right, or only who is left? There is certainly no room for doubt or intellectual debate within the armed forces.
I list among my reasons for wanting to join wanting to grow up and get out of the stupid, childish minsdet that the universe should revolve around me -- my whole life has been me!me!me!me!me!. I want to be part of something bigger than myself, I want to give myself to a simple cause. But ironically, isn't this reason still a very egocentric position? It's still all about poor, tortured Jay, trying to find out who is and where he should be.
I know I have to try or I will spend my whole life wondering, and the more people cast their doubts the more stubborn I am in wanting to prove them wrong. But I am still unsure if I am doing the right thing.
UPDATE: None of it really matters now -- I got my rejection letter today. But I am welcome to reapply in twelve months.
Monday, 21 January 2008
All day, staring at the ceiling
I keep starting to write this, then deleting it.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but I feel really unhappy this evening and I don't know where it's come from. Work is fine, it's not difficult or over-busy and I seem to be learning things quickly enough. It will be better once I start being paid and have enough to start saving again, but whatever, I can't say it's a lack of money making me unhappy tonight.
Kelly referred to me as happy in the reference she gave for me, I feel like a phony. I'm not the person I want to be, and I am a far cry from the person I want to be for other people.
Maybe it's much too hasty to stop therapy? I feel so stupid writing this. I don't know what's wrong with me.
This is not who I want to be.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but I feel really unhappy this evening and I don't know where it's come from. Work is fine, it's not difficult or over-busy and I seem to be learning things quickly enough. It will be better once I start being paid and have enough to start saving again, but whatever, I can't say it's a lack of money making me unhappy tonight.
Kelly referred to me as happy in the reference she gave for me, I feel like a phony. I'm not the person I want to be, and I am a far cry from the person I want to be for other people.
Maybe it's much too hasty to stop therapy? I feel so stupid writing this. I don't know what's wrong with me.
This is not who I want to be.
Monday, 17 December 2007
Semi-Musical Monday
I got a letter from the Student Loan Company today. Curious as to what they wanted (as surely I haven't yet earned enough to make any repayments) I opened it. Being the season of goodwill, it seems they thought they would remind me that I still owe them over nine thousand pounds, and what's more they have charged me almost two hundred and fifty pounds in interest.
In other news, I discovered last week that googling the lyrics to one particular Christmas song was bringing up my blog within the top 5 results. Concerned that somebody I knew might end up here by accident, I have taken that particular post out of circulation and added noindex, nofollow tags to my blog. Now even googling for Arm the Homeless doesn't seem to find me -- so it must be working. Although I like to be widely read, I no longer think that being searchable on Google is a good way of achieving this.
However, should you all want to show your support for this fine blog of mine I have found a website that sells Arm the Homeless stickers. All it needs to complete it is my URL...
And in closing, because the Student Loans people have pissed me off and I can't be arsed to think of a proper post for Musical Monday I include this video, and a link to the blog of the legendary Dave Gorman talking about why he thinks the song is so good and why it should be #1 this Christmas.
In other news, I discovered last week that googling the lyrics to one particular Christmas song was bringing up my blog within the top 5 results. Concerned that somebody I knew might end up here by accident, I have taken that particular post out of circulation and added noindex, nofollow tags to my blog. Now even googling for Arm the Homeless doesn't seem to find me -- so it must be working. Although I like to be widely read, I no longer think that being searchable on Google is a good way of achieving this.
However, should you all want to show your support for this fine blog of mine I have found a website that sells Arm the Homeless stickers. All it needs to complete it is my URL...
And in closing, because the Student Loans people have pissed me off and I can't be arsed to think of a proper post for Musical Monday I include this video, and a link to the blog of the legendary Dave Gorman talking about why he thinks the song is so good and why it should be #1 this Christmas.
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
On confidence, people and life or something resembling it
I'm still sulking about the whole Claire business. It's difficult to explain, because it's totally not about her -- instead I'm having a High Fidelity "what does it all mean?" sort of reaction, and trying to figure why past friendships/relationships/romantic interests haven't worked out. Trying to see what the common link is to either not being good enough, or as good as the someone else there inevitably ends up being. Sometimes I can perhaps put it down to geography, or maybe not showing enough interest -- or of having those count against me when there are people who have geography and showing enough interest on their side. Anyway, that's sort of buzzing around in my head at the moment.
I invited all my friends over on Friday night, and aside from Jon and Calvin, they all decided they would rather go to the pub than See me. Almost without exception nobody told me they were going to the pub, several people made excuses for why they weren't out (when really they did go out), and nobody thought to say to me "we're going to the pub, would you like to join us?".
Yesterday I had what felt like a shit day at work. Everyone just seemed mean. Maybe not the customers individually, although in any customer-facing role the public are generally going to be characterised by being wankers. But also my colleagues all seemed like they were being mean to me, or mean and bitchy in general. The highlights of yesterday were driving to and from work -- because this week I have decided not to take the bus every day, but instead drive part of the way and catch the "park and ride" shuttle bus. This is good because it's marginally cheaper, and much faster -- it also means I don't fall asleep on the bus (because the bus journey is now only about 10 mins) and that I can listen to music in the car.
I still count driving and listening to music as one of my simple pleasures in life, which is part of why I enjoying volunteering when I'm out delivering meals -- I get to drive about, listen to my music, and often meet new and interesting people whom I squirrel away in my imagination to reuse them or their stories in fiction sometime.
Today in work was much better. This afternoon at least I was in a good mood perhaps in part due to a cherry coke at lunch, but also because I had inane conversation with my colleague Tim. Tim isn't someone who I'd probably invite out with my friends, he isn't even someone I look forward to working with -- but he's a nice enough guy, and genuine with it. I think some people take him the wrong way, but I can relate -- sometimes people don't get your sense of humour. I just like the easy conversation with him, like talking about scrabble or monopoly, or when I call him names -- nicknames I gave him today included Tim-Tim the Dog Faced Boy (which I have to use in full), just "Tim-Tim" because it sounds like Tintin which also amuses me, and variations on Chewbacca, or just doing Chewbacca impressions when he yawned.
I tried to make conversation with my colleague Zowie (pronounced as Zoe, not like Bowie) although I'm not sure she likes me, it didn't much get off the ground. I asked her what she was doing tonight -- it's almost as bad as talking about the weather, but at least I'm trying to talk to her, which is progress with me. She mentioned she had a sign-language class. I said I was impressed, which knowing girls could have been taken the wrong way -- as in she might have taken it as "I didn't think you were smart enough" rather than literally I just think it's good. She followed it up by telling me she is also learning Chinese. I didn't like her tone of voice, but was going to continue to ask her about (by asking Cantonese or Mandarin, for example), but didn't get the chance. Shortly after she announced she was going back to work upstairs. I said to Tim I don't think she likes me.
Another person I don't think likes me very much is Heather. I don't know why, but I expect she finds it difficult with me -- since I'm not very talkative, and I don't get the impression she is very talkative with people she doesn't know. I also think her people skills need work, like if she has to tell me how to do something or ask me to do something in a different way then I personally think she could try using a tone of voice that doesn't sound irritated. Either way, most days she and I barely talk since there's mostly someone easier for her to talk to. This evening, I actually initiated and maintained a pleasant conversation with her. Again, just asking her if she was out tonight -- no, she said. Why not, I said, you have the day off tomorrow? But she told me how tomorrow she is going to London with her family for dinner and a show, and we talked random stuff like that, until it was time to go home. Even though we both finish at the same time, she just announced it was time and left -- while I found our colleague we were working with, and told her I was finishing and discussed if we'd need someone to take my place.
Anyway, what work has shown me today was begrudgingly maybe my therapist has a point. I tell him I don't feel I am confident enough or outgoing enough, and he tells me to just try acting it. Try practising it. Put on the appearance of a confident person, or in this case an outgoing person. If I make the effort to try to be outgoing it becomes easier and I do reap the rewards from it. In a sense, it's what I did in PR or as a journalist -- I'd have to be on the phone talking to strangers, and there was no sense in being myself, as that wouldn't get the job done. So I had to put on the personality of a confident person.
Perhaps similarly, despite feeling thoroughly and consistently rejected, I started writing and replying to personal ads online again. I'm not looking for a relationship, really, just some fun dates or the chance to meet new and interesting people. Of course, I continue to be met with almost zero success -- but it's the doing it that counts more than a measurable result.
My writing of ads has shown me a few things -- that apparently girls don't think the planetarium would make a very good date venue, that references to songs should be avoided and describing things like seeing your breath in the air between your faces before you kiss might sound poetic, but will get fewer responses than "optimist seeks 20-something nymphomaniac who owns a brewery with an open minded twin sister".
I invited all my friends over on Friday night, and aside from Jon and Calvin, they all decided they would rather go to the pub than See me. Almost without exception nobody told me they were going to the pub, several people made excuses for why they weren't out (when really they did go out), and nobody thought to say to me "we're going to the pub, would you like to join us?".
Yesterday I had what felt like a shit day at work. Everyone just seemed mean. Maybe not the customers individually, although in any customer-facing role the public are generally going to be characterised by being wankers. But also my colleagues all seemed like they were being mean to me, or mean and bitchy in general. The highlights of yesterday were driving to and from work -- because this week I have decided not to take the bus every day, but instead drive part of the way and catch the "park and ride" shuttle bus. This is good because it's marginally cheaper, and much faster -- it also means I don't fall asleep on the bus (because the bus journey is now only about 10 mins) and that I can listen to music in the car.
I still count driving and listening to music as one of my simple pleasures in life, which is part of why I enjoying volunteering when I'm out delivering meals -- I get to drive about, listen to my music, and often meet new and interesting people whom I squirrel away in my imagination to reuse them or their stories in fiction sometime.
Today in work was much better. This afternoon at least I was in a good mood perhaps in part due to a cherry coke at lunch, but also because I had inane conversation with my colleague Tim. Tim isn't someone who I'd probably invite out with my friends, he isn't even someone I look forward to working with -- but he's a nice enough guy, and genuine with it. I think some people take him the wrong way, but I can relate -- sometimes people don't get your sense of humour. I just like the easy conversation with him, like talking about scrabble or monopoly, or when I call him names -- nicknames I gave him today included Tim-Tim the Dog Faced Boy (which I have to use in full), just "Tim-Tim" because it sounds like Tintin which also amuses me, and variations on Chewbacca, or just doing Chewbacca impressions when he yawned.
I tried to make conversation with my colleague Zowie (pronounced as Zoe, not like Bowie) although I'm not sure she likes me, it didn't much get off the ground. I asked her what she was doing tonight -- it's almost as bad as talking about the weather, but at least I'm trying to talk to her, which is progress with me. She mentioned she had a sign-language class. I said I was impressed, which knowing girls could have been taken the wrong way -- as in she might have taken it as "I didn't think you were smart enough" rather than literally I just think it's good. She followed it up by telling me she is also learning Chinese. I didn't like her tone of voice, but was going to continue to ask her about (by asking Cantonese or Mandarin, for example), but didn't get the chance. Shortly after she announced she was going back to work upstairs. I said to Tim I don't think she likes me.
Another person I don't think likes me very much is Heather. I don't know why, but I expect she finds it difficult with me -- since I'm not very talkative, and I don't get the impression she is very talkative with people she doesn't know. I also think her people skills need work, like if she has to tell me how to do something or ask me to do something in a different way then I personally think she could try using a tone of voice that doesn't sound irritated. Either way, most days she and I barely talk since there's mostly someone easier for her to talk to. This evening, I actually initiated and maintained a pleasant conversation with her. Again, just asking her if she was out tonight -- no, she said. Why not, I said, you have the day off tomorrow? But she told me how tomorrow she is going to London with her family for dinner and a show, and we talked random stuff like that, until it was time to go home. Even though we both finish at the same time, she just announced it was time and left -- while I found our colleague we were working with, and told her I was finishing and discussed if we'd need someone to take my place.
Anyway, what work has shown me today was begrudgingly maybe my therapist has a point. I tell him I don't feel I am confident enough or outgoing enough, and he tells me to just try acting it. Try practising it. Put on the appearance of a confident person, or in this case an outgoing person. If I make the effort to try to be outgoing it becomes easier and I do reap the rewards from it. In a sense, it's what I did in PR or as a journalist -- I'd have to be on the phone talking to strangers, and there was no sense in being myself, as that wouldn't get the job done. So I had to put on the personality of a confident person.
Perhaps similarly, despite feeling thoroughly and consistently rejected, I started writing and replying to personal ads online again. I'm not looking for a relationship, really, just some fun dates or the chance to meet new and interesting people. Of course, I continue to be met with almost zero success -- but it's the doing it that counts more than a measurable result.
My writing of ads has shown me a few things -- that apparently girls don't think the planetarium would make a very good date venue, that references to songs should be avoided and describing things like seeing your breath in the air between your faces before you kiss might sound poetic, but will get fewer responses than "optimist seeks 20-something nymphomaniac who owns a brewery with an open minded twin sister".
Friday, 7 December 2007
If you want me, I'll be sleeping in
"Can I be awful about tomorrow and uninvite you? Not being an arsehole, but I've not been very well this week and my brother has just turned up to surprise me from Canada so I wanted to change it to close friends as I'm not feeling up for a big party anymore. Hope you're not insulted mate. Sorry"
And with that one message Claire officially uninvited me from her birthday party.
Do I buy any of that bullshit about not feeling well and her brother's "surprise" visit from Canada? Of course I bloody don't. She used the family thing for why she couldn't go the Sex Pistols, without realising I would remember her family were in Canada. I have been fair, I have been reasonable. I didn't make a fuss that she rejected me -- after all, she probably wanted some tall, handsome guy with long hair and the chiselled abs and all the rest. I have some vague recollection from the night we got drunk together of her seeing a guy like that and lusting after him. Nobody can hold that against her, she wasn't interested in me, I was fine with that. Maybe trying to kiss her was a bad idea, but I don't regret it -- I want to be the kind of guy that tries to kiss a girl because he wants to, without worrying if she'll reject him or over thinking it. It didn't work out, no big deal. At least I thought no big deal.
I said recently that Claire had turned down two invitations or opportunities to see me, and that I wouldn't bother again -- I would wait instead for her to show some willing. I really thought she had, with the invitation to her birthday. I was looking forward to it, especially as I regretted not being able to go to her Hallowe'en party.
But fuck her. I won't text her again, I won't bother to text her anything again -- not even a "hi, how you doing?". I don't fucking care how she's doing.
I carefully considered my reply. I contemplated giving it oh no, and I even bought you a present, but decided that was far too passive-aggressive. What exactly would I achieve by making her feel guilty? She'd probably only resent me, and I don't think she likes me very much as it is. I thought about bawling her out, telling her fuck you -- I thought we were friends, I don't believe this stories you tell me and I really don't appreciate that you think I'm stupid enough or enough of a sap to just swallow them.
But again, that wouldn't be very helpful, either.
So I just told her that, yeah, I was offended actually, but I understood. I didn't say what I understood (I understand that for whatever reason, despite inviting me in the first bloody place, she doesn't want me there) and for some unknown reason I didn't get paid today, so maybe it was for the best. She called me "mate" a few more times and thanked me for understanding. Screw that.
However it might seem, this is not about being rejected by a girl. It's not that I fancied her for a while -- the crush barely had the time to get off the ground, and when I stopped thinking about it, it just quietly stopped burning. What has actually upset me is being rejected generally. It's like with that stupid electro girl who dumped me before I even took her on a date -- before I was even in any way romantically interested in her.
This just makes me feel like I can't seem to manage to have a successful relationship -- not just in the romantic sense, but I can't seem to get some kind of friendship off the ground. Sure, like I say, maybe it was wrong to try and kiss her -- maybe we could have been great mates if I had never shown any kind of attraction to her, but fuck that. If she had any kind of respect for me, she should have been able to get over it.
This is not a "girls are evil" post, or even a "people are unreliable" post. Yes, people will always let you down and disappoint you, that's because we are all human and all fallible. This is just feeling sick of being rejected and not wanting to even bother with people any more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)