There Ain't No Devil, It's Just God When He's Drunk

Okay, so maybe it's time for some reflection. The last time I was on here, I was writing with a vindictive vigour and slurping away on that half bottle of £2.99 wine left other from two nights before. Not good. Yes, I was irate about being asked not to return to a temping job (temping I tell you, temping!!), but in retrospect, it was no big deal. I say that now.

Friday was that verbal vom night (enhanced, as all things are, with booze). Saturday I pretended that I was fine, everything in my life was fine, and I got together with my SAfriend and N, (a friend from back in the UC days who is now doing a masters) to a delicious sushi meal and a few casual drinks after. We laughed about what happened (or at least I tried to), and it actually turned out to be a good night. Then Sunday rolls around. Sunday was a black day...a day of soul crushing, self-imposed loathing and utter self-inflicted revolt that I seem to put myself through 2 or 3 times a year. Apparently Sunday was time number 2.

Here's what happened: Scottie made the innocent request that I spend time with him a little that day rather than see SAfriend again since we had both been working all week (with me going to bed a few hours before him), and we only really had Sunday to be with each other. And for some reason, something in me broke. There really isn't any way to describe it, other then it was like my insides were caving down upon themselves and I suddenly felt like the biggest failure at life ever. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry (which I did, and which later turned into hyperventilating). So I hid in bed for a few hours just crying my soul out over how I felt like such a worthless husk of space, how I couldn't do anything right, how I had no purpose in life...it was bad. And all the while, my poor boyfriend was doing everything he could to coax me out from under the covers and talk (from asking, to begging, to demanding, to tempting...), but I just felt like nothing I had to say was worthwhile. Eventually he physically grabbed me up and plonked me on the couch, threatening to call an ambulance if I didn't stop hyperventilating. If I know one thing, it's that I'm not worth an ambulance call, so I took out the bottle of Rescue Remedy that I'd hidden and managed to get my breathing back in order. After a cup of tea, I began to start feeling human again.

Now I don't want to sound like all of this crazy black mood stuff was due to being asked not to return to work- normally, while something like that would certainly bum me out, I would never go all ape crazy. Instead, I think I have to put it down to a whole mix of things; the sun setting at 5 (soon to be 4), my week of early rises, and my non adjusted mental clock, that I have been thinking a lot about careers, jobs, life, and that my monthly visitor is only a week away. So I guess this depression has been building up, and when mixed with anxiety, it coalesced into something big.

During all this, my boyfriend was absolutely wonderful. He kept telling me that I really shouldn't be worried. That the temp agency would call me on Monday and I would have a job again. That I was really unhappy at BG and that maybe this was all for the best after all. And I hate to admit it, but he was right. Sure enough, Monday comes along and I get a call at 9:00 asking me to do reception at an NHS office. I go there, and they LOVE ME. The head of HR even compliments me on my excellent phone manner. They give me a lot more responsibility and it's good for me because now I actually have something to do all day- booking taxis, booking rooms, booking computers...easy. I still don't want to do reception my whole life, but at least I am happier working at the NHS (the free nationalised heathcare service) than at the corperate conglomerate. Which just really goes to show that I am not cut out for the world of consumption and greed, but rather public service, where at least I feel that good is getting done.

So new week, new job, new attitude...and I even got to catch some sun as I walked home!

Interesting facts here- yesterday I was railing on about my lack of career focus, how much I don't want to be doing reception, and how I silently long for lives experienced by more interesting people. Apparently I am not the only one. In the paper today, it is said that '... January 2008 found that almost seven million Britons in their twenties are deeply unhappy with their lives an duder intense pressure to succeed in jobs, finances and relationships.' Seven Million?!?!?! I had no idea Britan even had that many twentysomethings. So at least I'm not alone. Bad news is (since apparently I alway have to be the one who cynically sees things half empty) is that now I have to compete against SEVEN MILLION others for happy, successful jobs. Bah.

In other, happier news, IT'S FRIDAY!!! I managed to convince that man of mine (from here on named Scottie, like the dog) that he really wanted to treat me to a large sushi dinner. Proper sushi is pretty rare in Edinburgh, with an actual japanese restaurant opening up last year (note- not so delicious), and an AMAZING sushi restaurant opening close by to us just soon after. And it is AWESOME! Unlike the other place, they have rolls. Nothing as imaginative as the ones found in cali, but still, I take what I can get.

Then one of my best friends is coming in to town to visit. SAfriend (as she is from South Africa) is coming in Saturday night for (maybe more sushi), possibly a movie, and hopefully drinks, if I can convince her that she really isn't doing this not drinking thing.

Yay for weekend playtime!