No, just kidding, it’s me.
We haven’t spoken in a while, save for that one short post about my book being reviewed on Top2bottom. So I thought I’d update you on my life.
My life, is, shall we say, in the mid-stages of upheaval.
For a start, following a series of slights at work (namely, the fact that my bosses chose to ignore certain statutory rights of mine, acted like total fucktards and took away my day off without notifying me first, then openly bad mouthed me to my collegues) I chose to leave their employ. I was kind of entitled to, after all, my trial period was just then finishing, I wasn’t required to give notice.
I did pack up all mine and my friend/co-workers stuff and move out in the middle of the night without telling anyone – but, if your bosses were that crazy, you’d understand why it was necessary.
It was made a little complicated by the fact that the friend-of-a-friend who was going to give us a lift at 7 that night actually had to work late, so she couldn’t come and help us move.
Which we found out at around 6.
And then both my bosses (Mr and Mrs, shall we say, Hitler) had to come back to work to sort out a computer issue. So, I had to hide in our dank, unearthed, poorly plummed flat with all my worldly possessions until they’d gone.
In the end, it took two journeys on foot across Bath, and three taxi rides, to get everything we owned back to our student house (which we’d had to keep up the rent on – and thank god we had).
I was so nervous, so terrified, that I slept in my friend’s room, and got very little sleep as a result (she is a kicker).
So, I am now unemployed.
Today I actually have an interview at the job centre, because, frankly, if I can eat muffins I find in bins, what is so bad about being on the dole? It’s taken me two weeks to apply, and I’m surprised at myself, I really thought I had no shame, but apparently I do, when it comes to accepting bail out money from the government. Even money that I deserve, money that I paid in tax. My mind was clearly warped at an early age by my Nan’s copies of the Daily Mail.
I’ve traded in my non-functioning Xbox 360 for a bumper £8, sold my vintage handbags, considered returning to my old gig of selling my used panties to perverts via craigslist, and am in the early stages of setting up my own detective agency to bring in some extra cash.
But, then, I suppose that’s typical for unemployed writers.
Speaking of writing, I’m also trying to get my (now finished) chick-lit novel published. I’ve had it proofread by trusted creative writing friends, and I’ve got all my letters written and saved…now just comes sending them.
I have to admit that I’ve never been good with rejection.
I once had an interview at Matalan, and was turned down because I was twenty minutes early, and my shoes were too pointy. And I didn’t shop there for over a year. I still get hives when I go in.
But, as I’ve been applying for jobs for the last two weeks, and received almost no word…it might be time to get used to the idea that rejection is just a natural part of life.
Employees reject their bosses’ bullshit.
Potential employers reject graduates.
Publishers reject novels.
I reject the notion of failure being a possibility.