1869: Back at the Chalkface

I'm doing something tomorrow that I've sworn a number of times I'd never do: I'm going back into a Music classroom in a school.

Things are a little different this time around, though. For starters, I'm not there as a regular teacher; I'm instead doing some work (my first, in fact) for the local music service covering an illness absence. It's also only for a couple of hours, so even if it ends up being an absolutely hellish experience (which I sincerely hope it won't!) then it won't be long before I can escape.

But let's be positive. I'm actually quite curious to see how this school is doing things, because it's the first time I've come across a school giving instrumental lessons to a whole class at once — in this case, year 3 and 4 children playing clarinet. My past experience in the Music classroom has been limited to schools with a budget of about £5 a year for the arts, and an equipment cupboard full of little more than horrible '90s keyboards, broken percussion instruments and perhaps a couple of recorders if you're lucky. 30 kids having the opportunity to learn a "proper" (for want of a better word) instrument like the clarinet is a new one on me, and I'm all for it.

Music was one of my defining "things" growing up. I started learning the piano from an early age and did pretty well. I got through exams without too much difficulty, often performed in public, participated in local music festivals (including the unusual experiences of piano duets and trios, which I kind of miss the bizarreness of) and eventually started teaching before I left for university. I picked up the clarinet and the saxophone while I was at secondary school, and these opened the door to more social music-making occasions such as the school orchestra and bands, and the county concert band (which, although fun, was one of my first real experiences with social anxiety, particularly when I overheard someone I thought was my friend taking the piss out of me behind my back). It was often hard work, but it was enjoyable, and I made a lot of good friends at university through music, too.

It was something that, as I was growing up, you had to make a specific effort to do, though. Music to me was "special" — something a bit outside of the norm — and I liked it for that. I liked that it gave me a skill that a lot of other people around me didn't have. I liked being able to play a piece on the piano and people who normally wouldn't give me the time of day would suddenly (and, usually, temporarily) think I was cool and talented. I find myself wondering whether I'd feel the same way if I'd "had" to study my instruments, rather than wanting to.

This is why I'm intrigued to see this whole-class approach to instrumental teaching. I'm not convinced it's going to be ideal, since an instrument like the clarinet in particular isn't suited to everyone. It's an opportunity for these kids to make music together, though, and using an instrument that's eminently more relatable than the usual "school music" mainstays of tambourines, tambours and guiros. And a bit more practical than getting everyone playing the piano — although I do know of some schools that take similar approaches with keyboard tuition.

Anyway. That's my day tomorrow; hopefully it will lead on to new and exciting things.

1864: Trying Times

It is, as they say, a Difficult Time in my life, as regular readers will know. I also find it somewhat unfortunate that said Difficult Time in my life is coming, as with the previous Difficult Time back in 2010, shortly prior to my heading off to something that should be fun, exciting and pure escapism: my trip to Boston for PAX East. (I hasten to add that this Difficult Time is for different reasons to the 2010 Difficult Time, thankfully; I'm not sure I could go through another 2010.)

But, as difficult as it is to stay positive sometimes — and believe me, it is extremely difficult to stay positive right now — I need to focus on the things that I'm doing that are worthwhile, and that could potentially (hopefully!) lead to future happiness.

I have a real piano in my own house for the first time since I left home, for one thing. That's pretty cool, and as I suspected I vastly prefer playing it to my electric piano. The electric, though awesome and great-sounding, simply doesn't "feel" right thanks to being on a somewhat wobbly keyboard stand, and the sound of it coming out of an amplifier isn't the same as the real thing at all.

Said piano is hopefully going to be the centrepiece of at least some of my future work, and I'm making all the efforts possible to make the music teaching happen. I'm getting business cards printed, I have a listing on one of the biggest online music teacher directories in the country, I have my own website and, once the business cards arrive, I'll be giving them out to local music shops and other establishments in the hope of drumming up some business.

I'm also going to be doing some work for the local Music Service. I only have a couple of hours of this secured so far, but hopefully that will lead to more regular future things. While a couple of hours certainly isn't going to pay the bills, it's a foot in the door, which is good.

Then there's a few writing-related possibilities in the pipeline. I don't know if any of these will come to anything just yet, but hopefully they will.

And then there's a few other potential means of making some money out there, too, all of which I'm exploring in the hope of finding something that will allow me to support myself and remain at least reasonably happy for some of the time. In practical, realistic terms, it's probably more likely I will end up mixing and matching lots of different things, which maybe isn't ideal from a "stability" perspective, but will certainly keep things interesting and exciting — and more importantly, allow me to work on my own terms, which is something that I've come to crave.

I am trying to remain positive. I really am. There are good days, and there are bad days, and there are days that are sort of in the middle that can go either way. Today has been one of the latter kinds; let's hope tomorrow is a good day. Only one way to find out though, huh.

1851: Bollocks

So, I lost my job today. It's the third time depression has played a partial role in me losing a position, and the second time I've been treated like absolute shit by people who were supposed to be supporting me, effectively putting me in a position where it was either get fired or be forced to resign. (Regrettably, in this case, I was not given the opportunity to do the latter.)

I was pretty furious earlier. I may have bellowed an obscenity in the face of the person who fired me. It wasn't my proudest moment, but I don't regret it one bit. The person in question is someone who, along with a couple of others, has contributed to me feeling like absolute shit for the last couple of weeks. So no, I don't regret it; they deserved it, and moreover, letting out that shout was enormously cathartic — so much so that I pretty much felt the last couple of weeks of stress leaving my body through my mouth.

I guess I should be grateful then? But fuck that. I do feel surprisingly better than I thought I would, however; I was in tears while this hideous process was going on, but once I got home — after a horribly gruelling journey up the shithole of a motorway that is the M27, hopefully for the last time — I was pretty calm about the whole thing, and ready to look for the next step. (That said, thinking back on it is making me a bit angry, so I'm going to stop doing that for the sake of my own sanity right now.)

Anyway, all this puts me in a position that I was planning to put myself in at some point soon anyway, albeit a little sooner than anticipated and without any of the groundwork I was hoping to lay before I put myself in this position.

I've come to the conclusion that working in a corporate environment like that simply isn't for me. There's too much scope for two-facedness, lying, backstabbing and general unpleasantness. There's no reason for these things to happen, of course, but having spoken to a number of people who have had various office jobs, it seems that it's pretty much par for the course with that kind of position.

Not only that, but I have absolutely no patience for an organisation that puts policy and procedure ahead of individual welfare and performance. I'll leave specifics for another day, but suffice to say that this place was rife with ridiculous policies and procedures that served as little more than excuses to get people into trouble — and it was also host to the nanniest of nanny-state, wrap-everyone-in-cotton-wool health-and-safety bullshit-obsessed nonsense I have ever encountered in my life. So, aside from the regular income, I shan't miss it one teeny-tiny bit, aside from the couple of people there who were genuinely decent folk just struggling on to get things done amid all this nonsense.

The plan, then, is to try and strike out on my own; in the past, while working from home has occasionally been lonely and stressful in its own strange way, I vastly prefer it to long and tedious commutes with toxic atmospheres at the other end. I can control my own working hours, I can take on the work I want to take on and I can simply get on with it without other people interfering with me. This, it seems, is my optimal means of working, and it's unfortunate it's taken such an unpleasant experience — and six months of wasted time — to confirm that to me.

I have a few avenues to pursue, one of which is something that I've considered trying to make a living from in the past: music teaching. I've done a little of this on the side in the past before, but only a few pupils. I know it's more than possible to make a very healthy living doing this, though it takes time to build up that solid base of regular pupils. That means I'll be looking for freelance or temporary work in the meantime, likely with an emphasis on writing and/or editing. It'll also be a good opportunity to brush up on my web design skills, which in turn will open up opportunities for other work.

As horrible as today's experience was, it's ultimately a good thing, I think. It's given me a push to not settle for a job where I'm miserable, and instead to actively seek out things that I am both good at and enjoy.

I feel there's a long and difficult road ahead of me, but I feel ready to start walking it. Wish me luck.

1753: Shifter

It's quite surprising what a relatively minor shift in your routine can do for you.

I said yesterday that I was going to try doing my commute a bit earlier than usual and see if that made a difference to my daily journey. Specifically, I woke up at 5:30am, snoozed the alarm for half an hour and got up at 6. Previously, I've been waking up at 6:30am, snoozing the alarm for as close to half an hour as I think I can get away with, getting dressed, having a quick breakfast and shooting out of the door as close to 7am as I can manage. Today, I managed to be out of the house well before 6:30am, which meant that it was still dark and cold — although at this time of year it's still dark and cold at 7am, too — and well on my way to work considerably ahead of my normal schedule.

Surprisingly, I felt pretty alert. Sure, the espresso I had necked before leaving the house probably helped, but I often have one of those on "normal" days, too; this felt somewhat different, like I had somehow hit on the correct biorhythm and synced up my body with what the universe felt I should be doing and when.

I grit my teeth and clenched my buttocks as I approached the accursed M27 and prepared for the worst — and longest — part of my daily journey. I merged onto the main carriageway, accelerated, accelerated, accelerated… and before long, I was cruising at what I'd consider to be a normal motorway speed without being dragged to a grinding halt by overhead flashing lights declaring the recommended speed to be "40" and a sea of tail-lights indicating that no, I'm not going anywhere for a good while yet.

In other words, my journey was smooth, quick, uneventful and, most importantly, completely stress-free. I arrived at my destination in ample time to find a convenient parking space that didn't involve a mile-long walk to the office; I walked the route to work still feeling fairly chipper and positive, and it put me in a good frame of mind for most of the day: compared to a lot of other days I've been working at that place, today was extremely busy and could well have been quite stressful had I arrived in a negative frame of mind. However, due to that good start to the day — all because I went through my morning routine an hour earlier than usual — it didn't; rather than stressful, it was productive, and I managed to get a whole lot done on a big project that I've been working on, which was good.

Shame I had to go and ruin all that with my journey home, then; I noticed rather too late — i.e. once I was on the motorway and approaching a buildup of traffic — that I was low on fuel, and sure enough, a moment later the warning light came on. I pulled off the motorway to go in search of a petrol station, but made the mistake of driving into the black hole of despair that is Fareham, traffic capital of the South Coast, and ended up turning what should have been a 45-minute journey into one that took two hours. In stark contrast to how the smooth run this morning put me in a positive frame of mind, this appalling journey home was stressful, unpleasant and put me in a bad mood — albeit a fleeting one which has dissipated after some food and funny TV.

Just goes to show how little changes can make a big impact on the way your day goes and how you feel. I'm going to see if I can continue the routine of getting up at that earlier time and enjoying a smooth run in to the office of a morning; starting the day right is very important, and I experienced firsthand today what a big difference ensuring that start was a positive one made. So hopefully I will be able to keep it up.

I give it a week before I'm back to rolling out of bed five minutes before I absolutely, positively have to leave the house otherwise I'll be late. But it's nice to be (vaguely) ambitious.

1750: Time Kompression

Once again, time has been proving itself to be somewhat fluid. I've only had a week off from work, but it feels like an eternity; it probably helps that I've done one hell of a lot of things in said week off — most notably going back and forth to Scotland, but also last night's trip to London for Distant Worlds as well as a few other things — but this would seem to disprove the whole "time flies when you're having fun" theory; I've certainly been having plenty of fun, but this week feels like it's been an extremely long one.

I'm not complaining; it's been nice to have what actually feels like a really long holiday when, in fact, I've only been away for a week. I feel quite rested and relaxed and, necessity of waking up at an ungodly hour for a commute that doesn't suck all of the balls aside, pretty much ready to face the day tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be back into the same old routine before long, but that's not really a bad thing; routines are comfortable and familiar, and form the backbone to one's existence. Routines mean that breaks like I've had this week feel all the more meaningful and enjoyable; times like this week are honest-to-goodness breaks when I don't have to worry about anything and can just enjoy some legitimately completely free time.

This is something I never really got when I was working from home. Although most of the publications I worked for were perfectly happy for me to take a few days off here and there, it was sort of hard to justify doing so when I have a laptop and could work from literally anywhere there was an Internet connection. Indeed, on a number of occasions I found myself working hard well into the night when I should really have been relaxing and enjoying myself doing other things, but I was always keen to make a decent impression with the effort I made — that and, in the case of things I wrote regularly, such as my Japanese gaming column on USgamer, I didn't want to let down my audience.

This is something I never really got when I was a teacher, either: you can't just take a day (or week, or month) off here and there when you're working as a teacher; you have to go by the holiday calendar the school follows. This makes things both restrictive and prohibitively expensive; school holidays are "primetime" season for travelling, tourist attractions and, indeed, pretty much everything, so the prices are jacked up accordingly. Not only that, it means that there's just no letting up, even when you need a break for the sake of your health — mental, physical or both. Couple that with the guilt trip you get when you take a day off genuinely sick — you're expected to provide a full day's worth of lesson plans for cover teachers to use even if you're on your deathbed — and the whole situation is just rather shitty all round.

So now I am pleased to enjoy my times of holiday, because they're just that — time off. Nothing to worry about. No work I "should" be doing while I'm away; no "I'll just check in on the office email"; no "I'll just pen a quick article on that" — just rest and relaxation. Bliss.

1734: Working Week

I am glad to reach the end of this week — it's been a long one, largely because of that overnighter I had to pull in the middle; an inconvenience which even having the whole day off yesterday hasn't quite allowed me to recover completely from. I'm not as young as I once was, I guess.

While I shan't talk about the job itself — it is generally inadvisable to talk too much about one's current employer if one wishes to stay employed — I did want to just contemplate how this new chapter in my life is going so far. After all, there's a significant number of changes here, and while many of my friends and peers have been living this sort of existence for years now — in many cases since the end of university — being in the position of having a "normal" job is still something that is relatively new to me.

I'm enjoying the experience, though. Sure, there are quiet and boring moments, but there's also a feeling that I'm doing something vaguely useful, and more than that, it's nice to be around actual real people, even if they're all busy doing their own things for most of the day.

That, I think, is the thing I missed the most. As something of a self-professed recluse at the best of times, a year or two back I never would have thought that I'd be craving human contact, but towards the end of my time working from home, I was really starting to go just that little bit crazy without having other people around. Sure, I could walk to the shop, but interactions there are fleeting at best, and those who try to strike up conversations with strangers in convenience stores are generally regarded as being somewhat on the fringes of polite society. (Not that my own social anxiety would ever permit me to strike up a conversation with a stranger in a convenience store, anyway; the thought of it is mortifying.)

At work, though, it's been a pleasure to slot in as part of an existing team. It feels like some people are still coming to realise that I exist, while others have accepted me immediately. I'm particularly grateful for the fact that my immediate team of peers are all extremely nice people that I enjoy spending time with; while our job certainly isn't miserable or horrendously difficult or anything like that, we form the sort of group that can share both positive and negative experiences together and feel like we have a "bond" of sorts; a sense of camaraderie.

This is, as previously noted, somewhat different to anything I've experienced before. In teaching, things varied from being cliquey to "us vs. them"; in retail, there was a sharp divide between the floor staff and management; in the online press, I rarely saw the people I worked with face to face. Here, I see the people I work with — at least those on my immediate team, anyway — every day, and as part of a large company we're just one part of a whole. It's an interesting experience, and one that I'm gradually getting used to as the weeks tick by.

I'm pretty sure that I made the right choice to get here. In some respects I'm wishing I'd made it a little sooner.

1711: Soporific

I have… a problem.

Said problem is that if I have to sit still and do nothing while concentrating on someone else talking for any length of time, I get extremely sleepy, regardless of how tired I actually am. My eyelids start to get heavy, my body gets tired and all I want to do is just curl up and get comfortable for a bit of a nap.

This is a problem because the times when I am supposed to sit still, do nothing and concentrate on someone else talking for any length of time are generally occasions where it would be impolite to fall asleep. Weddings and funerals, for example, but also meetings.

I've suffered with this issue for as long as I can remember — certainly for as long as I've been an adult. I remember it happening on occasion at university during lectures, but more often than not this could be attributed to a heavy night out the previous evening and a hangover weighing on my mind. (My peers found it terribly amusing when I had to quietly slip out of our weekly piano workshop to go and be a bit sick. Well, I didn't want to throw up all over the Turner Sims concert hall.) At other times, I could fend it off by occupying my brain somewhat: either taking notes if I was actually interested in the subject of the lecture, or doodling the lecturer getting sucked off by some sort of sinister vacuum cleaner-like contraption if I wasn't. (This happened once; it wasn't something I found myself drawing on a regular basis.)

It's mildly embarrassing, but fortunately I've never managed to actually completely fall asleep before. I've come perilously close, I must admit, but I always manage to maintain my faculties and remain in the land of the living. I came perilously close on more than one teacher training day while I worked in schools, too, particularly since said training days tend to ignore everything we're ever taught about engaging people and helping them learn and instead tend to consist of someone waffling on and on and on for hours about something which is, quite possibly, a load of old bollocks.

The peculiar thing is the moment I step out of the situation where I'm supposed to be concentrating on someone else droning on about whatever, I can be back to full alertness in a matter of seconds, with no trace of tiredness. It's just that while I'm sitting there, expected to take in everything that is being said and actually retaining very little of it at all — usually because it's not relevant to me and thus immediately filtered out by my brain — my body appears to go into its shutdown sequence. And I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Or am I? That would be awful, and even more difficult to explain than falling asleep in a meeting already would be. But I guess we'll cross that bridge if — yes, if — we come to it!

1701: The Lunchbox

I don't miss many things about going to school, either as a pupil or as a teacher, but one thing I do sort of miss about the former aspect is having a packed lunch.

There was always an air of mystery about a packed lunch that someone else had prepared, particularly in primary school, where it tended to be safely stored in a vibrant, colourful plastic lunchbox well away from one's desk, with its contents not to be revealed until, well, lunchtime. And then it was always a tense moment as sandwiches were unwrapped and fillings surveyed. Would it be cheese and brown sauce? (My "compromise cheese and pickle"; I don't like Branston Pickle) Would it be ham? Would it be Bovril? Or would it be something surprising and exotic like… err, egg and salad cream?

Then there was the remaining content to go through. What would accompany the sandwich? Would it be a packet of crisps that I liked, or something "boring" like ready salted? (I remember vividly getting into a rage and crushing a packet of ready salted crisps when I was about 8 years old; I was quite an angry child, for reasons that were at least semi-justifiable — though the crisps didn't really deserve to receive the brunt of my ire.) Would there be a chocolate biscuit like a Penguin, or something else? Would there be some form of fruit? What would the drink be? (I doubt many of the lunchboxes of my youth would have passed the stringent inspections that some schools apparently now insist upon, incidentally.)

It was all oddly exciting in the most boring way possible, and I've been gratified to rediscover this dubious joy now that I'm going out to work every day — although sadly without a gaudy plastic lunchbox containing a Thermos full of squash. On days where I remember to pack a lunch, obviously I know what I've put in there, but there's still that joy of being able to finally devour the things that have been waiting in your drawer all morning; on days where Andie is good enough to prepare a lunch for me (and herself as well, I might add) there's that element of mystery back again… what might be in the sandwiches today? Which one of the biscuit bars is in there? What kind of drink might be waiting for me?

You have to take pleasure in the small things in life because the big, exciting things don't come around that often. (At least, I don't think they do.) And a fine way to start appreciating those small things is with something as simple as a lunchbox. If you're the sort of person who habitually wanders out to Tesco of a lunchtime to purchase a cardboardy prepacked sandwich, make yourself a packed lunch one day, and you, too, can discover this dubious joy which I've been rediscovering recently.

Or perhaps I'm just a weirdo. That, let's face it, is a very distinct possibility.

1698: Friday, Friday

I've always appreciated the weekend to a certain degree, but frankly when you're working from home as I was for the last four years, spending a couple of extra days in the place where you've been spending time anyway wasn't much of a "reward" for a job well done. (A couple of days off, however, was.)

After just two weeks at my new job, I'm already observing a new appreciation of the weekend. It was thoroughly pleasant to know that, as time ticked on throughout this afternoon, I was getting closer and closer to being able to go home and stay there for a bit. (Yes, we have a thoroughly quiet and boring weekend planned, with the only thing we really have to leave the house for being my eye test tomorrow.)

I've been in a position to appreciate the weekend before, back when I was a teacher, but it wasn't quite the same. When working as a teacher, you see, the weekends tend to end up filled with the work you weren't able to complete during the week. Things like marking, levelling, paperwork — and by the time you're done with all that there's not all that much time left for enjoying yourself.

Then there was retail, where weekends would frequently be stolen from you — although, I have to say, having a midweek day off in lieu of some weekend work was always rather pleasant.

Now, though, I have a proper weekend. I get home from work on a Friday evening and I don't have to even think about it until Monday morning. That's a good feeling. That's a nice feeling. That means I can enjoy my weekend without guilt about things I "should" be doing, or worrying about whether I'll have a job when the next week starts. (The latter worry is a common affliction of those in the online press sector, because, well, as I've already demonstrated, jobs sometimes just disappear at a moment's notice.)

So yes. I plan to enjoy my weekend to the fullest. Not like some 'avin it large "living for the weekend" twat, of course — I actually can't remember the last time I just "went out" to drink and… do whatever it is you're supposed to do on a night out — but rather someone who has worked hard all week and is now perfectly entitled to a bit of a break.

I anticipate this weekend will be filled with a combination of Tales of Xillia 2, Final Fantasy XIV, Velocity 2X and possibly a first look at Danganronpa 2 if I finish Xillia 2, which is starting to look increasingly likely. We'll see. I'm sure I'll have lots to talk about when I eventually crack that one open.

For now, then, have a pleasant Friday night, and an enjoyable weekend. I certainly will.

1697: Adjustments

I am very tired. This is a side-effect of my new routine, which necessitates getting up at some point before (or, more commonly just before) 7am, going out, doing some work for a normal working day, then coming home in time for about 6pm, eating dinner, then doing something relaxing and pleasant in the evening.

This may not sound all that tiring to those of you who have happily been holding down nine-to-fives for the last umpteen years, but it's been something of a culture shock to me.

Actually, that might be a slight exaggeration. But after four years of working from home, often in my pants, there have been a number of adjustments I've had to make. And, you know, aside from the whole "getting up early" thing (which I still loathe thanks to my body's uncanny ability to be extremely tired in the morning regardless of whether I go to bed early, timely…ly or ridiculously late) these adjustment haven't been all that bad — and I think they'll have a positive effect overall.

The biggest change is, of course, the fact that I am no longer working from home and consequently have to 1) put clothes on and 2) travel to work. The former's not really an issue — I joke about working in my pants, but in reality more often than not I did get dressed to do work, because it put me in the right mindset to do useful things.

The latter, however, is a noteworthy change. I have a drive of about 45 minutes or so to my place of work, followed by a 10-15 minute walk from where I park my car to the actual office. This means that I'm getting a bit of very light exercise every day, which is probably a good thing. I can't say it's particularly strenuous exercise, given that I tend to walk quite slowly — a trait I have apparently inherited from my mother without noticing at some point — but it is exercise of sorts, and it's every day.

There's also actually a gym on site at my new workplace, which I will probably join at some point soon, since it's a lot cheaper than the one I'm currently a member of. (Plus I walk past it on the way out of work every day, so that makes it a lot more difficult to ignore… and it has the advantage of meaning that if I stay late to do even a short workout, I'm less likely to run into rush-hour traffic on the way home, which will be very nice indeed.)

The fact I'm working in an office rather than in my own house, which, to put the following in context, is approximately 5 minutes' walk from a Tesco Express, means that I'm less inclined to wander out and purchase various snacks and sugary drinks when I'm feeling hungry, too. Instead, I'm drinking a lot more water, I've cut down a fair bit on the lattes — no more than one or two a day, usually just the one to pep me up a bit in the morning — and I've almost entirely eliminated fizzy pop from consideration when I think about what I'd like to drink. I take my own lunch when either Andie or I remember to prepare it the night before (because let's face it, neither of us feel inclined to do so at that ungodly hour in the morning) but even when I don't, the work canteen is pretty good, with a selection of decent food rather than the usual "chips with everything" situation I typically associate with the word "canteen".

So on the whole, then, things are going well and I hope they will have a positive impact on both my physical and mental wellbeing. It's too early to say right now, but I'll certainly be keeping an eye on things as I continue to settle in.