askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
 It seems to have been an impossibly long time since I last posted.  Life is currently hectic and stressful (no change there) and has recently resulted in one of my most significant mood swings/extreme cycles in recent years.  Culminating in self harm, taking up smoking again, and a red-telephone-style phone call to BFF to ask to stay with her for a while as I just couldn't reliably stop myself coming to harm for a while there.

Some of this is hinted at and foreshadowed in two recent blog posts over on my other blog:
Just 'doing it for attention' - some thoughts on reasons behind self harm
High Stakes Gambling - on turning into skid when hitting hypomania

I'm currently crawling out from under a few hangovers - actual one brought on by a near uninterrupted 1 month drinking binge (something which is increasingly doing me a concern and I may post later on how I feel about drinking and working through some stuff there) and financial one from hypomanic spending and associated costs of going on a bit of a bender. 

Friendships are groaning at the seams and I need to put energy in there too.

I'm hopeful things are looking up, professionally, for me in September but there is still uncertainty and multiple factors at play there.  I'm also giving dating another spin of the wheel after wedding of friend who met now-husband on OK Cupid, which I attended with another friend who has recently embarked on a positive-looking relationship with someone from Match.com. Realisation that my perfect "our eyes locked over the organic avocados" meet-cute moment ain't gonna happen and I need to put some energy in there.

In all: life.


askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
I've had one major meltdown and one minor meltdown in the last 7 days.  

4 weeks to thesis submission.

Taking bets now on how many more meltdowns before then.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
...I skip an NHS waiting list and compress 3 months of work into 3 weeks.

I've unexpectedly got a date for my shoulder surgery before the end of the year. In fact, it's due before the end of the month.  Surgery scheduled for Thursday 26th of November and then my bff B is going to pick me up and I will stay at hers overnight - although she's apparently come out in sympathy for me and has a frozen shoulder so she may not be able to drive and pick me up if that hasn't resolved and it might be a pick up by her husband instead.  Then it's home to rattle around my flat alone and home I'm able to function/rely on the kindness of friends if I can't cook. My parents will have to drive and pick me up in the car for Christmas as I won't be able to manage luggage on the train as usual which is sad, as I always enjoy the Christmas-train home, the atmosphere is always lovely. The one advantage is if I am struggling alone, they can come and collect me earlier than I planned to go back, although that would mean I miss Burning the Clocks/Brighton's Winter Solstice celebration which I had intended to make a lantern for this year.

I think I've explained before, but the surgery is to relieve ACJ impingement, as here, and may also involve repair a bicep tear, as here.

I was injured 6 years ago when a twat knocked me off my bike at traffic lights - I was in the cycle lane, he was in left lane turning left and didn't check his mirrors. Smashed into me, waited for me to jump up, drag my bike from under his car, and then he drove off.  After being told to rest it after a visit to A&E (and my first ever x-ray) it stopped hurting and I thought that was that. 2 years later I took up swimming again and it emerged my shoulder was basically in the wrong place with massive muscular weakness around that shoulder.  So I had another x-ray, then referred to shoulder clinic. Shoulder clinic offered me steroid injection or physio.  Concluding physio would treat cause and not symptoms, I chose physio. 3 years of physio, 3 steroid injections, 2 ultrasounds, 2 further x-rays, and an MRI and it's still fucked - and not for any particularly clear reasons.  All the x-rays, ultrasounds and MRI could say was "maybe" my bicep tendon has torn, maybe the joint has some growth impinging it, and maybe the joint it out of alignment. Maybe.  So surgery it is.

I'm quite anxious - after a consultation in October I was told the waiting list was in excess of 3 months so I settled in for a long wait.  I think the sudden date has contributed to my anxiety as I just wasn't ready for it. I'm also a little anxious about having a general anaesthetic - I've had that twice before at the dentist but the last time I was about 12 and came round from the anaesthetic crying my eyes out on my Dad's chest so I'm embarrassed by that, and also a little worried about semi-conscious me having nobody there to cry upon. 

Mostly I'm worried about the pain.  They won't know whether they need to reattach the bicep until they look inside the shoulder, if they do it's significantly longer recovery and more immobility which inevitably means more pain. 

And I'm anxious about putting my PhD on hold for at least a month, and possibly longer.  And I'm stressed right now because I'm working flat out to get all my teaching responsibilities fulfilled before I have to hand over (3 classes of marking, rescheduling two seminars) and lots of admin/PhD stuff (writing 2 abstracts now because there'll be no time later, presenting at a research in progress event in order to promote my work across the university/in a newly established research group, contacting wished-for external examiner to ask if they will examine me in the summer, scheduling completion with supervisors) and just generally compressing the next 3 months of stuff into 3 weeks.

It's all sort of petrifying.  Although it has just occurred to me that once this is done, it'll be a clear run from January to the end of my PhD.  Which is sort of exhilarating.

If I don't die under anaesthetic, which I've convinced myself I will. Drama queen.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
It's getting to the point in my PhD now where I'm just circling - revising and editing everything. The only 'fresh' content I have left to write is the introduction and conclusion and, by definition, there is not much new I'll be putting into that, just summing up and contextualising.  It's getting harder and harder to write my thesis because of this.  The creative, blank page stage is in some ways very intimidating, but it's also quite freeing - there's no wrong place to start, just start throwing stuff at the page, deal with what sticks later.  Now is about focus, detail, concentration.  Honing my argument, tightening up holes, reading 20 books to generate 5 solid references to support one framing sentence.  It's peddling faster than ever to move slower and slower.

This is, in some ways, good. I'm firmly moving into the final stage of writing and the end is in sight.  Within 6 months I could have a full draft with a reasonable expectation I'll only have minor corrections to make before having a manuscript suitable for submission.  In other ways, it's never been harder than right now.

I'm exhausted; intellectually, emotionally, mentally.  And physically I'm in bad shape; my shoulder injury (displaced/separated ACJ) is at its worst, constant pain with the only variation being how much pain I am in each day.  I have an MRI on Thursday and a consultation with a surgeon in October.  I have done *everything* I could to fix this without surgery - 2 years of physio (over 3 years) where I did every exercise at home between sessions I was directed too, I've had 3 steroid injections into the joint, 3 x-rays and 2 ultra sounds.  And still I am in pain.  Still.

There is, in some respects, light at the end of the tunnel - it's reasonable to hope surgery will resolve the problem but, if it doesn't, nothing will.  That's terrifying.  Also terrifying is the prospect of more pain - that's guaranteed immediately after the operation for a minimum of 2 weeks followed by pain as I get muscles back up to strength.  And, perhaps most gut-wrenchingly, is the uncertainty of finances during re-cooperation after the operation.  

I don't get sick pay from my job teaching at the university because I'm on a zero hours contract and it's looking like I'm going to be having operation at end of year or early next year and thus unable to commit to taking on teaching during the spring term so I could potentially lose out on 4 months of money.  

I have carefully, excruciatingly carefully, saved up during the last 5 years and have precisely enough money to live on, pay rent, etc, for the next 12 months.  Every week and month I am out of action for as I recover from operation is time I am basically wasting money - as I won't be able to work on publications or thesis revisions, or teach, or apply for jobs.  The big fat gaping hole that faces me as I draw closer to the end of my PhD is made exponentially worse when I consider facing financial insecurity again.

I am fortunate in that my parent will not allow me to go hungry or homeless.  But they also don't have the resources to pay my rent; their help whilst appreciated and fortunate, would take the form of me moving in with them. Again. 200 miles from Brighton.  At the age of 32.

Everything is very uncertain. Everything is gradually getting harder and harder, more and more intense, and with every step forward I am more and more committed to this path which has absolutely nothing at the end of it unless I can generate opportunity, financial security, a career etc.  And god damn it, my shoulder hurts so much.  Chronic pain is fucking horrible.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
Today I turned 30 years old.

I've spent months freaking out because this is not the life I expected to be living at 30.

Today, however, I managed to beat the odds and buy tickets for me and [personal profile] forthwritten to see the Manics play The Holy Bible in full in December, then I taught two good undergraduate seminars, then I went home and opened gifts from my parents and brothers; then I spent 3 hours building a Lego Delorean and then my parents (who are visiting Brighton) came over and we drank a bottle of really nice champagne.

My parents and I went for a meal at a Really Good vegetarian restaurant, and somehow we got into an argument about theology in which I calmly debunked my Dad's entire belief system (turns out my Mum is an agnostic despite regular Church of England communion attendance and she bowed out of the conversation early) and got to a point where my Mum admitted my non-conformist/anti-establishment opinions were her fault; "it's my fault you're like this, when I used to read fairy tales to you in the bath I'd criticise them, like Red Riding Hood - as if she'd think the Wolf was her Grandmother just because he was wearing her cloak!".

30, it turns out, is a fairly good age to be.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
I find you in the strangest places.

Sitting against the window in the sun on the train from Birmingham to Melton.  In the face of the girl in the queue for the Manics last week. In an echo of teenage lust for David Boreanaz in the first episode of Buffy.

In bluebells and in fat, ripe, purple cherries.

It's good to see you.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
What a year. What a life. What a world.

I feel the need to tidy away 2011, make room for 2012 but attempts to do so seem doomed to failure as a sense of hopelessness in front of 'fate' overwhelms me each time I try. The irony of course being that I don't believe in fate.

I've been trying to form in my mind the things I want for 2012 in the belief that determination is 90% of the route to realisation. 'Space' is right up at the top - I simply can't live in my parents house, if I want to be alone I have to sit in my bedroom. If I want to cook I have to squeeze in the kitchen in between them being in there and endure endless questions. I really value silence and solitude and time to myself and for the last year and a bit that has been completely absent. The main block on that road is not knowing where I want that space to be and whether I should rush for the short term pay off (very tempting) or play a longer game for savings and a place in September. Much of this is dependent on the current PhD application I have.

The PhD is second on the list; I am struggling to motivate myself to complete the application which has been further frustrated by my laptop killing itself this week so any work must be done in an environment I don't enjoy working in - namely on the family PC in the spare room. I am pushing myself to have the application in by today (which is difficult as yet again I can't get a second referee and have been told in fairly unequivocal terms by my first referee that this is the last reference he will write for me, which whilst fair given it is now 4 years since I started my MA, royally fucks me over for any future plans) and the funding application in by the end of next week. I am basically shooting in the dark though as have nowhere to turn to ask for assistance in writing the application and online guides only tell you how - not if what you've written is any good. I had a dream where the person I have asked to supervise me told me my application was a pile of shite and there was noway I would get a place. Thanks for that one subconscious.

Third and finally on the 2012 wish list is a relationship. This one really complicates the first wish the most - where I choose to live and perhaps buy a house, is going to impact on my potential love life. There do not seem to be any women my age in the area. There are older women (significantly older, I have no problem with 8 years or so difference) and there are teenagers who are just leaving for university or at university. There are no mid-late twenty somethings who have ended up somewhere they never intended to be and would quite like to meet someone and build a life. Buying a house in this area feels like condemning myself to singledom for the foreseeable future and I don't want to make a potential positive of owning my own home into a life sentence to loneliness. Unlike the above two where there are numerous routes and options available to me this 'wish' is the one which seems to pose the most insurmountable obstacle to my own happiness.

I feel more conflicted and lost now than I ever have before and that in and of itself is quite distressing. I'm at an age now where I thought I would have things straightened out and I'm angry at both myself and the world for not delivering on that - I feel I've let myself down. It struck me yesterday, as I walked past my University college graduation photo in the hall, that 2012 will be 6 years since I first graduated and whilst I would not claim for a moment those 6 years have been wasted - I travelled round the world and I lived in a great city and I got a good Masters degree - I still find it hard to understand how 6 years could have passed without me getting a clearer idea of not only where I was going but where I am now. Indeed, in that 6 years I've lost some of the things I thought were a sure thing - like the certainty of marriage and not returning to live with my parents.

I recognise of course that we live in difficult times; the economy is poor and both jobs and funding for educational opportunities are scarce. I am lucky enough to be in a stable, secure job with strong prospects; I regret that I cannot *feel* the meaning of that though, I simply acknowledge it to be true. I came across a Nietzsche quote last night which, whilst I do not know the context of the writing it was taken from, certainly seems to express the reason I cannot settle at this time for 'adequate'; Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves?

How true that is - something I feel all the more keenly since the death of my colleague in November.

Life is a thousand times too short to live without fulfilment and joy.


askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
Today I spent a day at The National College in Nottingham. I am beginning a course I don't feel particularly strongly about but which will give me the illusion of career progression in my current role and enable me to walk into a well paid job in locations other than my current one on account of ticking that all important 'qualifications' box.

This building is HUGE. It has no fewer than three, three storey atriums and a lot of empty classrooms/conference rooms. Here is a picture of a bit of the building;



Massive.

So, our course tutor, a man who was offered such good money to become a NCSL tutor that he quit his job as a Primary School Headteacher (a well paid job, if you were wondering), tells us, proudly, that the building was built by Tony Blair.  It was Labour's initiative, he tells us, which established the National College and created these qualifications (not unlike an NVQ, but for 'leadership').  

I am, therefore, sitting inside a New Labour folly; a monument of wood and glass to wasted money. A monument to creating excessively, disproportionately, well paid jobs for people 'training' people to receive qualifications in the job they are already doing, or would previously simply have learnt by doing, not by writing down how they would do it.

More specifically, I am sitting in a building which - in a roundabout way - is the reason there is no money left in the country.  And no money left in the country means cuts to Arts funding.  Cuts to Arts funding means fewer scholarships and bursaries.  Fewer bursaries and scholarships mean stiffer competition. Stiffer - insane - competition means I los[e/t] out at Hull and I am not currently beginning my PhD research.

In short, the man standing in front of me, droning on about 'evidence types' and 'professional standard written English' and the need to understand your 'learning style' is earning per annum enough money to put me through university as a Postgrad for 3 years.  The window I am gazing out of could have bought me, what - all my textbooks? Sent me to a conference? paid my electric bill for the first month?

All around me is waste.  Waste which has such a profound impact I am forced to engage with it, am swept along in its pervasive ooze; just so I can remain in employment and, most distasteful of all, perpetuate it by falling down this rabbit hole of a career path.

Labour left this country, specifically education and the arts, with the most appalling debt.  The insidious self-perpetuating nature of their callous waste will keep me awake tonight, as it has done many nights before.  And what can I do about it? Can't vote Liberal, won't vote Tory, can't vote Labour.  Can't send an invoice for my lost future/ambition.  Can't win.  Can't beat them.  Got to join them.  

Joining them, filled with self loathing, disgust and fury.  Pure, undirected, righteous fury.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)

Wanted to write an entry about life, love and queer rage but somehow I can only find the word when the computer is turned off and I am reading/watching a film/sewing. It's as though I have to unfocus my mind in order to bring anything to coherent realisation and the moment I try to pin it down it slips away.

Suffice to say then, I feel hopeless and trapped but endeavour, every day, to try and lift that feeling through action. As the core reality of my situation never changes though, that is ultimately futile. Right now, on a Saturday night, I am worrying about work and my self-perceived feelings of failure in my role. I am single handedly responsible for administering the payroll for more than 200 people. That means deducting 9 kinds of pension payments, 8 kinds of union payments, childcare, student loans, National Insurance, PAYE and health insurance from people's pay - some of it is automatically calculated, some of it isn't, and the bits where it goes wrong, or I inherit it as being wrong from other payroll providers is all down to me to manually figure out. All that responsibility, a terrible wage and hundreds more small but 'vital' jobs to do? Add that to no formal training WHATSOEVER in the role I have been 'succesfully' fulfilling for the last year and you get a pissed off, overwhelmed and worn down Lizzie.

Whatever.

I got a cat, I called him Vincent. After Vincent Van Gogh who is my most recent love affair. He's proving to be, like all cats, very much his own person and we have moments of oneness and moments of exasperation. I hope to let him out of the house for the first time tomorrow and will be trying the age old tactic of buttering his paws so he comes home.

I'll leave you with photos. Because I've nothing else to give tonight, much as I strain to find it.

   

He has black paw pads - I've never known a cat with all black paws so this makes me think he's pretty special.

Failure.

Jun. 24th, 2011 09:36 pm
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
 I didn't win the scholarship.  So my offer letter for Hull to study for my PhD there is not worth the paper it's written on.  My PhD on the establishment of the queer family and the stress it places on heteronormative society will not be written.

After feeling numb for an hour or two, I cried.  Then I felt numb again.  Numb and sad.  So sad, in fact, that everyone at work was concerned I was too stressed.  I took today off, called in sick, and evidently it all kicked off - two of my colleagues went, separately, to our boss to tell her I was over worked and had a workload which was unreasonable for one person.  In fairness, I am doing my job and the job of another person who is on long term sick and that is stressful, but it is good stress - the sort you can manage, and the sort I leave at the door when I go home.  I am absolutely mortified that people said that to the boss, who then went to see my Mum, who also works there, to ask how I was.  My Mum said that more than anything she wanted to explain that I was off because I was so sad about missing out on the PhD scholarship - but of course neither she nor I can tell my boss that I am super sad because I won't be quitting in September - or that I was ever considering doing that.

I really, truly do not know what to do with myself now.  I know I need to move out of my parents - where is the big question.  I desperately want to go back to Brighton but I'm not doing that without a guaranteed job down there paying at least £17k. So do I move out for the short term here and keep looking for Brighton, burning a hole in the small amount I have saved up since living with my parents, or do I stay put and hope that I can save even more for the costly return to Brighton in the near future?

I've had a look and I can't find shit in Brighton job wise.  Also, this feels a lot like the decisive end to PhD dreams.  It's too long and too much of a long shot every time for funding.  I can't risk paying for my first year and hoping to get funding for years 2 and 3 because there is just no guarantee I will get it and then I will be worse off than if I hadn't done a year at all.

I feel like there is just a big gaping void for me stretching out from August.  I simply do not know what to do.

Giving up and drinking myself to death feels like a cracking idea though...
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
 I was going to write about how conflicted I am over what to do about mortgage stuff having been to see a mortgage advisor today and being told it's within my grasp.

I was also going to write about how unrewarding, stressful and frustrating my job is.  How I can't sleep for stress dreams and how tired I am at feeling stupid because I don't have a head for figures and doing payroll - dealing with pensions, tax and factored payments makes me want to smash my head against the desk.

How I am also frustrated, tired and upset by how poorly I grasp mortgage calculations and budgeting for a mortgage - and how I will know if I can afford it when I see the bills.  I have no abstract sense of numbers, interest, percentages....nothing.  I nod and I smile and go "oh I see!" when I am no better informed than I was a moment ago.

And I was going to write about the Manics again, and how simple everything seems when I am in front of them, surrounded by them, immersed.  Which is why I have spent every evening since Saturday watching Manics DVDs and listening to albums, to the exclusion of everything else.

But I'm tired.  And I've summarised. And I want to watch more Manics now.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
Share your father's advice.

You can't always call a spade a spade.

I used to get mighty pissed off at school when I would tell my female friends they were being...well, teenage girls.  I've always been quite straightforward and never particularly interested in gossiping about boys/hair/make-up/other friends, I had a tendency to try and resolve situations by being unrelentingly logical and practical - it rarely went down well.

This also applied to people who said stupid stuff, I tend to like to tell them it's stupid.  Not for being malicious just for...stating what the situation is.

Over the years biting my lip has become a hard acquired skill.  I think it's worth it, on the whole; fewer arguments.  More frustration perhaps, in the short term at least. 


Went to look at a new build house today, it was available on shared ownership so I would only have had to have a mortgage for 25% of the value (25% = £27,500) and pay rent on the rest - £191 a month - which I could afford on top of mortgage repayments.  I found it on a property site a week ago.  Mentally, I'd already moved in. I so want to unpack the boxes which currently rest in the attic.  I want to do my food shopping (I pay my parents board on top of rent, they shop early on Saturday morning, I eat the food that turns up in the cupboards), plan a weeks meals and live at the pace I choose - rather than existing next to the unrelenting routine of my parents.  I want to own a house. I want to paint the walls in the holidays from work.  I want to buy bits and pieces from Ikea to furnish it.  I want to adopt two cats (April and Socks from Lincoln Cat Care) and I want to live my life as I wish - that's not here.

Unfortunately, the 4 available shared ownership houses, I was told upon arrival, have already gone, and I can submit an application and be on the waiting list but it was implied that I wouldn't be the top of the waiting list - it'd take a lot of people's applications to fall through before I'd get one.  I still looked around - it was everything I hoped it would be from the photos I'd seen online - completely perfect.  I can see myself living there.  Which is fatal, really.

A week's reprise from how I felt when I wrote this entry, but I feel myself plummeting back there.  I have already looked at other shared ownership properties and not only is 25% a rarity, they are also almost universally flats and without the spacious rooms that this house had.



Friend S, with the brain injury from the car crash, is still recovering.  Spoke to him on the phone for an hour or so tonight and he tried to tell me two separate things he told me last time I saw him - something he never used to do, he's always had an excellent memory.  He also wrote a reply to my facebook status which, whilst I understood and saw the joke he was trying to make, was in no way expressed with his usual verbal dexterity and flair.  Keep encouraging him to be patient as he's very frustrated by getting tired doing normal day-to-day things and everyone telling him to go slowly.  But I'm actually getting impatient for him to be back to normal.  Terrified he will have lost some of his easy intellect and confidence of expression.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
With things like this, I rarely write in the heat of the moment, I prefer to check my sources and reference thoroughly. But today? You don't need references. Turn on the tv, have a look at news sites. It's happening.


The Lib Dems have betrayed us. The promise they made - the reason so many of us voted for them - is that they said they would not introduce higher top up fees, they promised us they would protect the right of every young person in this country to be able to go to University no matter what their income.

The current fees are expensive, difficult but not impossible. I campaigned, along with my fellow students back in 2004/2005, against the introduction of top up fees - they should not have happened but here we are. However, they are manageable; whether that be through grants or savings or loans. The new fees will literally make it impossible for everyone who wants to go to University to go.

Yes, the rich will still go. Yes, the poor may well get full assistance; but that pot of money is not unlimited so there will be stiff competition and firm cut off points - cut off points which will leave a gulf between the have lots and have not-so-muchs/have-littles. I got full financial assistance from my Local Education Authority to go to university but I still had to have a student loan in order to pay rent and bills. As such, I came out of university with a £12,000 debt.

Contrary to the government's claims that student loans are interest free, I am charged a phenomenal amount of interest every year on a loan I have yet to start paying back (I have, 4 years after graduating, still not attracted a large enough salary to meet the minimum threshold for repayments). The idea that these debts do not worry graduates, the idea that this is not a burden IS A NONSENSE. The question of whether I would have gone to Lancaster with a £9,000 charge for learning seems an easy one; without a full scholarship? definitely not. How could I? The resources my parents had to help me through university would have been laughable in the face of fees of that size.

Police Commisioner just said "any right minded person will condemn the violence, if they saw it, they will condemn it". I saw the violence, I don't condemn it - not with a broad sweep I don't. I feel that anger; and I wasn't standing amongst a group of protesters, contained by police and charged by police horses - provoked and scared - I wasn't there and I still completely understand the anger that led to this violence.

I agree wholeheartedly that the protest was hijacked by trouble makers- in particular the later pictures from the protest show people who seem to fit certain profiles associated with violnce for violence's sake - but to say all the violence was the result of that is a sweeping dismissal of the anger and chaos which the government and police caused.

Video of mounted police charging the crowd and clearly trampling some protesters who simply couldn't move out of the way fast enough was available at the top of this article on the BBC website for several hours today, it has since evaporated. [ETA: And been reposted here]

Protesters report, on twitter, that those who were smashing windows and doors at the Treasury were shouting "we want our money back". The police say it was criminal damage and not protest. I think it was both.

I'm disgusted that the majority of news stories are now leading with the fact the Prince of Wales and Camilla had the car they were travelling in were attacked. This is not an indictment of the incorrect expression of the protest, but of the uncontrollable, justifiable and absolutely AVOIDABLE rage of protesters. A friend just said the following of this incident;
"The living embodiment of inherited privilege gets hassled by people who just had their futures taken away. He's just lucky this aint France"

The police stated "protesters have failed to stick to the agreed route", one twitter user quipped "to be fair, so did the Lib Dems". How horribly true.

 


I cannot imagine a country in which I will ever vote Lib Dem again.

I'm sitting here crying over what we have become, what our government is doing to our education system and absolutely sobbing for the anger I feel at the betrayal of the Lib Dems and my empathy for the angry chants and actions of the protesters today.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
 Why am I here?

I mean here, at this point in my life.

I left Brighton because I was stuck; stuck in a flat I didn't like and which vaguely disgusted me.  Stuck in a job I definitely didn't like and paid me a pittance for working really hard and getting dumped on.  And stuck getting gradually deeper and deeper into debt - a little more every month (I had nearly £500 on credit cards to pay off when I moved back to East Mids, which may not sound like much to you, but it was/is a fortune to me - more than half of my monthly salary)

So I made what I thought to be the right decision; after a little over a year of applying for other jobs (a minimum of 2 professional jobs a month, more than that if you count 'unskilled' jobs)  I decided to change my situation, move to the East Midlands and take the financial pressure off myself by living with my parents while I got a new, better job.

2 weeks after moving back, my parents encourage me to take the only job I have applied for in the area; one that offers me less than the £13,000 p/a of my previous job but involves no travel costs.  I take it with the intention of finding another job; except there aren't any other jobs.  And I don't even know what words to search for on job sites.

In the back of my mind the plan was that I would live with my parents for a short while and then, with the earnings of my fabulous new job, get a modest 1 bed, or, if I was working in Nottingham, a flat share there, and live for a year or 2 saving for the PhD.  As it is, I cannot save for the PhD now (I still haven't paid off my overdraft) I have met exactly 0 new people and have seen my old friends from the area twice since I've moved back.

Now I'm not only screwed financially, I'm screwed socially.

I'm also constantly ill.  This stomach thing means I'm losing weight, which presumably means my body isn't processing the things I put in it, so I'm not getting the nutrients I need, so my skin looks like shit, my hair is horrible and my immune system is non existent.  I am constantly tired and am currently suffering through my third major cold in 8 weeks.

I want a new job, but I haven't got the faintest inclination of where to look anymore and I am beyond uninspired: I truly believe I am qualified for nothing because I simply cannot break out of jobs unrelated to my field.  Every now and again inspiration strikes and I seek out entry level jobs in fields I am interested in or full on passionate about; they don't exist.  Or, if they do, they are tailored for candidates who have not been to university, after all those guys need an extra hand up because we graduates live in the land of milk and honey already.


I just need someone to tell me what my skills are and where I should or could look for work.  But they don't do careers advisory services for 26 year old graduates with a job.

I feel like I keep trying to make the right decisions; keep moving, keep reassessing, keep planning.  But none of them work out.  It is no coincidence that yesterday marks the 2 year anniversary of things going to shit.  In a few more weeks it will be 2 years since I graduated from my Masters course.  A few weeks after that will be the 2 year anniversary of my starting a full time job on a £13,000 salary; the job that would 'last just a few months' before I got the £20k one I was 'destined' to have.

I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO FIX THIS.  And there is seemingly nowhere to find out.


Profile

askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
a sky gone on fire

June 2017

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
2526 27282930 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios