2352: Fuzzy Head

0352_001

I’ve had a horrible, fuzzy head today. I don’t mean physically — although after getting my hair cut yesterday, my head is a bit fuzzy — but rather a not terribly pleasant feeling of “detachment”; of being slightly “out of phase” with the rest of the world. And a slight headache.

I’ve felt this before, and it’s usually a symptom of depression and anxiety. In this instance, the fact I haven’t been sleeping well for the past few nights and am feeling especially worried about my future have been contributing particularly to the way I’m feeling. It’s not nice, so after writing this I’m going to go and sit in bed and relax with a bit of Ys: Memories of Celceta, then try and actually get off to sleep at a reasonable time if at all possible.

I actually have a job interview tomorrow. As usual when this happens, I’m being struck with anxiety over whether or not I’m actually suitable for the job and whether or not I’m going to make an idiot of myself in the interview. (Mind you, last time I thought I made an idiot of myself in the interview I ended up getting the job. Of course, that turned out to be the worst job I’d ever had, but that’s perhaps beside the point.) The thing I’ve been telling myself — and Andie said the same earlier — is that if I looked completely unqualified and unsuitable for this job, the company wouldn’t have got in touch and offered me an interview in the first place. This isn’t any guarantee that I’ll actually get the position, of course — given the geographical location, I’m not sure I’d want it, anyway, as it would mean a bit of a commute each day — but we’ll see.

All in all, I haven’t had a particularly good day. Not for any particular reason — nothing actually bad has happened, I just feel shitty.

Such is the way of things when your own mind likes to do its best to sabotage your life and happiness, though.

Oh well. All I can do, I guess, is take tomorrow as it comes and see how it goes. It’s not as if the interview I have tomorrow is the only iron I have in the fire at the moment, so it doesn’t really matter one way or the other as to whether I get it. But, you know, getting back into a routine and actually having an income would be nice.

One step at a time.

1879: Progress, or the Lack Thereof

I am frustrated. I know I shouldn’t be, because fixing problems such as those I’m having with my life right now (i.e. not having a job) takes time. But that doesn’t stop it from being frustrating and anxiety-inducing, particularly when things like utility bills pop through the letterbox while I don’t have a meaningful income.

There are, at least, some things on the horizon. Tomorrow I’m going to an interview for a freelance, work-from-home opportunity that will hopefully provide something to do and some money coming in. Unfortunately, I don’t as yet know whether the money it might provide will be meaningful enough to make taking the opportunity worthwhile — particularly as it apparently requires a month of training in their offices in Watford, which is an hour and a half’s drive away — but I figured, at present, any opportunity is better than no opportunity, and attending an interview like this is at least a chance to get a feel for what is out there, what it might pay and whether it’s something worth pursuing.

Nothing has happened on the private music teaching front as yet. I’d like it to, and I’ve got some advertising out there, joined the Musicians’ Union and all manner of other business, but still nothing as yet. I have had some business cards made, too, which I will attempt to distribute via some means in the near future, likely to local music shops and possibly supermarkets if the facility is there to put community notices up.

Work for the local music service has been going a little better, though I’m painfully aware that the work I have been doing over the last couple of weeks is just sickness cover and consequently will likely dry up within another week or two. Still, it means I’ve had the opportunity to show my stuff and potentially open myself up for some further work in the future. Whether or not that will lead to anything meaningful, again, remains to be seen.

So you can probably see why I’m feeling a bit frustrated and anxious. There are several things going on that might prove worthwhile, but which also might end up being a total waste of time. It’s nigh-impossible to know what is actually worth pursuing, what will make me happy and what will bring in enough money to allow me to survive, and the whole business is stressing me out to a ridiculous degree. I just want it sorted, and I want it sorted now. I have plenty to offer the world, but it seems making the world pay attention is not a particularly easy task. And when it proves this difficult to be considered for even the most mundane of jobs, it leaves me questioning myself to an unpleasant degree: have I fucked things up beyond all hope?

Probably not, says the rational part of my brain. But it’s hard not to keep returning to that thought when all I see in my wake is a string of aborted — failed? — attempts at having a career. I’m running out of ideas.

1624: False Start

Hello. How was your day? Mine was almost entirely wasted, unfortunately.

I was all set to have a second interview for a job I’ve been pursuing recently. I took a shower, got suited and booted, went to the toilet several times as my stomach became increasingly agitated thanks to the nervousness that comes with a job interview situation, left the house, caught the bus, caught the train, had a sandwich, took a taxi to my place of prospective employment… and then waited.

And waited some more. And then a bit more still for good measure. (Rolf Harris was declared guilty of indecent assault while I was waiting. I knew because the place I was at had the TV on in the reception area, and also Twitter was all over it before the Americans woke up and started complaining about whatever “Hobby Lobby” is.)

The time of my interview came. I asked where my contact was. No-one seemed to know, and it appeared that my contact didn’t even normally work on that site. A call was put in; my contact’s voicemail was reached, a message was left.

The time of my interview went. Still nothing. Rolf Harris was still guilty. Oscar Pistorius was declared free of mental illness, so his trial would continue. (News again. Twitter didn’t appear to notice this one.)

Nearly an hour passed, but I patiently waited. I didn’t want to be the guy who obliterated his chances by walking out of the door when in fact there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the fact my contact had apparently vanished off the face of the Earth.

And indeed there was; they were sick. A member of the recruitment team came down and found me, spewed a string of apologies made from seemingly pure guilt — I didn’t mind, really; there’s nothing much that can be done if someone is ill — and assured me that the interview would be rearranged for another day. I politely thanked them for letting me know, reassured them that I wasn’t angry or upset at the fact I’d travelled quite a way and had been waiting quite a while — I really wasn’t — and indicated that I looked forward to the true main event, whenever it would actually happen.

Then I walked back to the station — I didn’t know a taxi number, and it was only about a half-hour walk, caught a train, grabbed a coffee and a slice of cake, caught a bus and returned home. Now here I am. (Actually, I’ve been here quite a while; I wasn’t out until 11 in the evening.)

Oh well. A wasted day, then, but not one that I feel particularly embittered by. It could be a blessing in disguise, anyway; now I have more time to prepare for the interview. Though I’m sure that even with this blessing, I’ll still wake up on the day of the new interview, take a shower, get suited and booted, go to the toilet several times as my stomach becomes increasingly agitated thanks to the nervousness that comes with a job interview situation, leave the house and proceed much as things unfolded today.

At least things are happening, I guess. Let’s hope they lead to something a little more… conclusive soon.

#oneaday, Day 200: Day 200

And it is with something of a sense of anticlimax that I reach my 200th daily entry on this blog. It’s ten to midnight, I’m sitting in my pants in a stuffy study wondering if I should go and get a glass of milk, play the three Words With Friends games I’ve got on the go at present, stare at Twitter in the hope some revelation might come my way or simply go to bed.

Today didn’t start particularly well, though I managed to get out of bed early for once. Something which I won’t go into right now got me feeling not-particularly-good early on. Downright depressed, in fact. As such, I spent the vast majority of the morning not achieving very much at all. It’s difficult to focus when there’s nothing to really focus on.

That said, the day did improve somewhat later on. I have a second interview for a job I actually want on Tuesday. This is a Good Thing, and brings me on to my next point.

Some time back, I promised that by Day 200 on this blog, I would have made a decision on what I’d be doing. Now, as it happens, said decisions have been pretty much made for me by circumstances beyond my control. But here, for those who give a damn, is what’s happening to me over the next few… I don’t know how long.

I am soon to leave Southampton. In the words of my good buddy Kalam, who just skipped town to live in London and is having mixed feeling about the whole thing, “I’ve got all I can out of this town”. There’s certainly no jobs here that I want to do. If you’re not an accountant, a lawyer or a docker here, there doesn’t appear to be much in the way of work. And I refuse to apply for a job I don’t understand the description for on principle.

I don’t know exactly when I’ll be leaving Southampton. But it will be some time before September 10, which is when the contract on my flat is up and is also, ironically, the birthday of my estranged wife. I will probably be out of here sooner than that, depending on how this interview goes and how soon I’d be able to start at this new position which I’m not going to talk about for fear of jinxing it.

Those of you who are still in Southampton: this town has been a big part of my life ever since I first came here in 1999. Even in the years I didn’t live here, it was still “home”. I have emotional ties and attachments here. And as such, I don’t want to leave it quietly. My time with this town may be coming to an end, but I’m determined that I give myself a proper send-off. So please: if and when I announce I’m doing something to say goodbye, it would mean a hell of a lot to me if as many of you as possible could attend. I know this isn’t “the end” and I’ll doubtless see many of you again. But I’m going to Cambridge, which is a pretty long way away. So I’d like to say a proper goodbye to those I won’t be seeing again for some time. This is a heartfelt request. I’ll try and give as much notice as possible. Keep an eye on Twitter, Facebook and here. And, as arrogant as it sounds, make sure I have a send-off I won’t forget in a hurry.

Beyond this isn’t yet clear. The outcome of Tuesday will impact the details of what happens next. In an ideal world (which I know far too well we don’t live in) I’d get this job, be able to start pretty soon, move back up to Cambridge to stay with my folks for a little while, earn some money, get back on my feet and then the world is my generic clamshell laptop computer.

I have mixed feelings about all this still. The circumstances of everything suck. There’s no changing that. And it’s going to be tough to leave behind this city that’s been home for so long. But at the same time, a new start might just give a fresh outlook on anything. And being back at work will actually be nice. It’s tough to fill the days sometimes, and that’s what can lead to depression and not dealing with things very well.

So in summary: I’m not out of the woods yet. But I’m at least on the path.

Apologies this has been such a melancholy entry for such a milestone in the whole #oneaday project. Let’s hope the next 165 days mark a new beginning. I’m past the halfway point now. Should be smooth sailing downhill from now.

Right?

#oneaday, Day 180: Exhausted

This is going to be a brief one, and for that I apologise. It’s been a very, very, very long day.

Had my interview today. Journey to Newbury was absolutely fine with no hiccups. The interview went well, the people were very pleasant and they very much enjoyed my presentation which featured a selection of stick-Pete pictures to liven up the slides, one of which you can see in the corner. I’m still not convinced about the job itself, though I felt quite positive about the interview.

The thing that switches me off a bit is that it would involve relocating and a lot of travel. Right now, I really don’t have the finances to be able to fund that sort of thing. It suggests to me that it is something I could maybe do in the future, but it’s not the right time to do it now. In the meantime, I have another job interview the Wednesday after next that will allow me to move back home for a bit, raise a bit of money and get myself sorted in preparation for whatever awesomeness is hopefully around the corner.

So that’s almost kind of sort of decided, then. As much as it pains me to leave Southampton, the overwhelming response from a lot of people to my question the other day was that making a new start is easier if you make a physical move as well. And okay, going back home isn’t exactly a completely fresh start. But it’s something to build on, and it’s a change. And change is good, apparently.

What wasn’t so good today was the journey back. As I left the building where the interview was taking place, it started to rain. That stupid kind of rain where it’s still sunny but you get soaked at the same time. Then it stopped. Then it started again.

I hid in the forecourt of a BP garage until it passed and looked at Google Maps to find my way back to the train station. Turned out the train station was actually very close to where I was, but on the other side of some kind of waterway. And it didn’t look like there were any ways across.

Fortunately, there was a footbridge that wasn’t marked on the map. Said waterway turned out to be a canal, which meant there was a pathway all along the side of it… and no way to get out to the station which was tantalisingly out of reach. I ended up walking about a mile to reach somewhere that was probably less than 200 yards away. Oh well.

Then I got the train back. The journey involved a change of trains at Reading. Changing trains is always stressful because there’s always that worry that you’ll miss your connection. In this case, it turned out to be true, but it wasn’t my fault. The timetables on the station at Reading bore absolutely no resemblance to the trains that were actually coming and going. I ended up stuck in Reading station for nearly two hours, lack of sleep rapidly catching up with me until I did doze off on a bench like a well-dressed vagrant only to be shaken awake by another besuited man asking me if I needed to get on the Oxford train that was about to leave.

“No,” I said groggily. “Thank you.” Then I closed my eyes again.

When the train I did need eventually arrived, I decided to get into the “quiet” carriage where theoretically mobile phones and stereos are banned. However, what was not banned was the screechy Brummie hen party in there who were flirting noisily with all and sundry and getting incredibly drunk. I just wanted to sleep. Noisy, screechy drunk women are bad enough. Throw in a Brummie accent and… well, you can imagine.

When I did eventually get back to Southampton I was in full-on zombie mode. I shambled my way back to my flat, collapsed into bed for an hour or two and then set about the day’s business of writing.

And now here I am. At 3.30am. Tired. But it’s Saturday tomorrow. And I intend on sleeping until lunchtime. So there.

#oneaday, Day 179: Back to…

Evening all. After the considerable amount of depravity that took place last night I’m pleased to report something of a return to normality, though my head doesn’t quite believe that yet, still wobbling a little bit as it is. I’d also like to assure everyone that this post is written entirely by me and no other drunken people passing my phone around and sharing their pearls of wisdom with the world.

On a side note, whoever wrote this:

This is going terribly badly, but it pretty much sums up how tonight is going with the drink flowing freely like paradise city if the drink flowed freely instead of the girls being pretty.

I actually love you. Well done.

It wasn’t me. I don’t think. I’d remember coming up with something like that.

Anyway. Today has been largely wasted in a hung-over haze. We didn’t get home until well after 5 in the morning. The sun was rising, the birds were singing; it would have been quite beautiful were we not all quite so obliterated with the incredibly strong vodka we’d been plied with. Still, despite five completely necessary yet discreet early-morning trips to the bathroom that I am assured no-one else heard, we all slept very well. Admittedly, most of us not in our own houses. But we slept well nonetheless.

A little too well, in fact. Despite waking up repeatedly for aforementioned bodily cries for help, I fell asleep until well after lunchtime. There was no sign of my previous night’s companions, and a croaky-voiced shout of “anyone up yet?” outside the bedroom doors didn’t elicit any response. So eventually I figured enough was enough. I shouted a crackly “goodbye” and staggered out into the street feeling more than a little bit shaky. I realised that I wasn’t quite sure where I actually was in town, and the battery on my phone had died in the night.

Luckily, it wasn’t difficult to get back into town, and I plied myself with a coffee and a bacon sandwich that I ate very, very carefully. I managed to make it home without succumbing to the hugely lazy desire to get a taxi for a trip of less than a mile. When I got back in, I slumped on the couch for a bit and stared at the wall, half-asleep. But there was work to do; I have a job interview tomorrow, and there’s a presentation to deliver as part of it.

Trouble is, this job is in a field that I’m sure I could do but have little to no experience in. I’m not a marketer, though I’ve written stuff that could technically be classed as “PR” in the past. I know my way around social networking and know how to promote things; but at the same time I don’t want to become one of those douchebags who describe themselves as a “social media guru”.

Nor am I particularly enamoured with the idea of wearing a suit, which this job sounds like it will require. Suits look great on the right person, sure. But particularly in the summer months, there are few things more unpleasant to wear than a suit. Heavy woolen trousers and jacket? Shirt that seems to get sweaty pits as soon as you put it on? No thanks.

As you may have gathered, for a variety of reasons, I’m not feeling particularly fired up about this interview. I’m not sure why; ever since the company first got back to me and expressed an interest it hasn’t felt quite “right”. Initially, this was because of the prospect of having to move to a new city for it. I’ve kind of accepted the fact that that is going to be pretty much inevitable now, given the startling lack of any jobs that are the slightest bit interesting in Southampton. But even accepting that, things still didn’t feel quite “right”. It doesn’t feel like the right fit for me.

The advice of friends has convinced me that I should go anyway, see what the company’s like, scope the place out and get a feel for it. If it turns out to be awesome, great. If not, 1) it doesn’t matter because I have other prospects lined up and 2) it’s good experience.

A job’s a job, I know. But there are other prospects on the horizon that, while they pay less, offer the opportunity for much, much more in the way of happiness. And at the end of the day, I think that’s the most important thing.