Tuesday, 30 September 2008
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!
Thursday, 25 September 2008
1) I don't want to be a receptionist. EVER. I should be the person the receptionist connects a caller to, not the one who sits all day mindlessly next to the phone, waiting to get the chance to say 'Good morning/afternoon, B***** G*****,...one moment please while I direct your call.' No. I graduated Phi Beta Kappa and Cum Laude from a top ranked American university, and have a masters from a prestigious British one-I so do not want to spend my life doing this. Unfortunately, reception is all the temp agency thinks I am capable of at the moment, and I don't want to get a 'settled' job just now because I still need to get my legal work visa in December. The overwhelming boredom, coupled with the now insider knowledge of how much I don't want my life to turn into this and has caused me to (a) stalk people through their blogs and (b) read about how others have real jobs and ambitions. This has led to inner life relevation 2.
2) That I don't have a frickkin idea of what I am going to do in life. Up until now, this hasn't bothered me. For the past 6 years I have had a pretty relaxed attitude with my life ambitions, resolutely believing that I'd just 'fall into something' after graduation. Afterall, everyone (my parents, my friends' parents, etc...) all told me of how they ended up doing something completely unrelated to their major (apart from my dad), and how everything worked itself out. So what if you're an Art History major, Archaeology minor? You'll be fiiiiiiiiiine. Then after graduating and moving to the UK for 6 months in the hopes that someone would hire me, (supporting my visa, and allowing for me to continue working in the UK) FAILED to produce any said visa...I decided to run away back to school. Now with another diploma under my belt, I still have no job and no idea what I want to do. It doesn't help that I am reading copious blogs about very successful women no older than myself. One just got hired by an awesome, high paying, health care giving private company, another owns her own boutique, and hands full of others are pursuing high paying jobs in law and medicine.
And this makes me sick to my stomach. Why?
Because I am a constant compare-er. I know this is a major character flaw, but I can't help but constantly compare myself to others about everything- intelligence, fashion, weight, shoes, jobs, love, happiness, IQ...you name it. And after reading a few of these blogs, I look at myself and all I see is failure. It also doesn't help that there are loads of young girls where I'm temping who either did the graduate training scheme or are on it now, and I can't help but think to myself that I should be one of them, even though I really don't see myself as an investment manager-accountant-equity-risk assessor. But I am envious of their suits and that they are not sitting at reception.
When asked what I want to do, I seriously have NO idea. I'll vaguely mention heritage because I did history, but honestly, I have no idea what that entails.
Here is my want list in order of importance:
1) Something that makes me excited to go to work each day
2) That helps people/society
3) That requires some form of problem solving/creative thinking
4) Something with change- I am SICK of monotonous jobs and want something that incorporates some form of change
5) Good working conditions/staff- yay for friendliness, boo to stuck upedness, rudeness, and office bickering
6) Benefits! I HATE being uninsured when I go back to the States and not having dental coverage
7) Travel- optional, not required, but preferable. I LOVE traveling, especially if someone else is paying for it. Plus, I would help feed my technology craving for fun little gadets that obviously I would need if I wanted to get any work down traveling (small ASUS web computer, I am talking to you).
I read in one blog that one person is pursuing a career in intelligence. Hmmm...that got me thinking...Criminal Intelligence...helping to put the baddies away by researching and investigating their crimes, patterns, profiles...
This leads to revelation numero 3
3) That I will most likely have to go back to school. Again. While I like going to school and learning new things, particularly if they'll lead to a better job, what I don't like is paying for it. Again. As if milking my poor grandma dry to pay for grad school wasn't enough. As if milking my parents dry for my undergrad education wasn't enough. Nope, this is something I'll have to pay for myself, and that will require probably a year or two of monotonous suffering and a few night/internet courses to meet the pre-recs. And who knows, maybe after spending all my saved up money to learn about intelligence, I won't want to do it anymore and will be looking for something else.
It's freak out times like these that I sometimes wish our world was controlled a la The Giver style.
