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

Oh hai. Where have I been? Doing f* all except knitting and updating my knitting blog waaaaaay more dilligently than this one.

In terms of life, things are moving. My Honey is getting set to move to LAAANDON in less than a week (ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh), leaving me here to work my wee fingers to the bone, alllllll alone, for another 3 months. Actually, I've noticed that the work gods like to frequently piss on my parade whenever I plan on taking a holiday. I'd managed to swap my schedule around enough at the Library to take a whole week off without having to lose a day of pay so that I could get down to London and move my half of my shit in to our new flat. I'd worked out the cheapest way to get down to London (via Brimingham as it happens) and then out to Surbiton. I was thiiiiiiiiiiiiiis close to buying the tickets, but I was waiting until the start of the month when I got paid. And then I got a call from the Temp Agency. Temp Agency said the Hospital of Hell wanted me back for two weeks to cover a holidayh leave. So I was faced with either declining and going through with my soujourn down to London, or working the two weeks, make about what I make in a MONTH of working at the Library, and then plan to go down to London at the end of the month for Kiki's birthday.

I caved and said I'd do it.

So starting Monday 14, I will be going back to the Hospital of Hell to do reception for two weeks (and hopefully making some yarn money rent/train fare/food money). BUT, because I swapped all my days around to plan for a week off, it means I am working a full Monday-Saturday weeek at the library for one of those two weeks ON TOP of the Hopsital job. So I'm doing 14 hour days.

And I know that as much as I need to scrimp and save right now to be able to afford London life, I plan on living off Ramen noodles for 2 months and treating myself to ENOUGH YARN FOR A KICK ASS SWEATER.

For the past few weeks, there's been a whole lot of nothing going on. The job at the library is a lame 7.5 hours a WEEK, and in my free time, I've been fannying around. I mean, I did managed to apply for a few jobs, but then I find a new TV streaming site on line, and before you know it, I've seen all three seasons of 30 Rock in 3 days. Oops.

This week has been a whirl of emotions for me-

Monday: Still unemployed, sleeping in, and knitting like a bad ass
Tuesday: Happy to have employment, but feeling apprehensive about being thrown into the deep end with the sharks
Wednesday: Absolute hell. Tears, sobbing, see below.
Thursday: Determined to make the day better, Still stressful, but coping
Friday: Excellent. Praise poured from all angles, begging me to stay, quality banter, and actually enjoyed myself.

So there we are. Two days ago, I was rearing to go, about the throw in the towel, and say 'Good luck, sucker' as I stored out in a blaze of fire and angst. Now, I am actually considering going back to do part time work while also working at the Library. Crazy? Yeah, sounds like me.

But the thing is, I managed to SORT OUT EVERYTHING for next week. Get what we needed ahead of time, make the arrangements for notes to be delivered, and got it to the point where we're now back on track. Evil boss from hell who I totally still thinks hates me, gave me a shower of praise in front of everyone and said she would cry now that I'm going. All the secretaries <3 me, and I've made fast friends with the people I got placed to work with. I even opted to walk home (read: 1.25 hours away) with a colleague so we could just chat, and we ended with exchanged numbers, promises to keep in touch, and even have dinner over at each others'. So if I continued to work there, then I know that I will not be starved for company, and if they keep things as organised as I've made them, then the job itself should be relatively easy.

So I am actually thinking of going back.

Good idea? Bad idea? We'll see....

They say that when it rains, it pours. It certainly seems as though that is the case just now.

You see, a week ago, I got a phone call from ASA asking me to fill in for a week holiday cover for another temp back at the NHS. They wanted me back because I was familiar with the duties. So back I went, desperate for anything that paid. And I KICKED ASS! The Endoscopy secretary at the Royal totally loved me and I saved a lot of ass. I tracked down ALL of the notes, referrals, and did all the mailing in only 4 short days. And not only helped her get caught up on over 2 weeks worth of backlogged pathology reports, but also set her a week ahead for patient procedure organisation.

So she said she would drop some hints that she would like me back since they are way super backlogged at the Booking Office. Awesome. Not a job, but a potential job.

Then while I was at work the other day, I get a phone call from a recruitment agency called Elizabeth Hunt. They want me. Want me want me. Unfort, they wanted me for a job that started today, aka my last day of NHS work, but they still were desperate for me to come in, fill out the paper work, and have a chat. The lady there said that she would phone back the place they had orignially wanted me to work for and see if they wanted me. And that no matter, they were definately going to get me working and fast. So that was VERY encouraging.

Oh yeah- I also had a job interview on Monday for a part time position at the NLS. This I unfortunately failed- I kept waiting for the oppertunity to gush about why I love the NLS, how I've had previous experience in libraries, that I have had rare book handling training, and that oh yeah- my dissertation was on 18th century cookery books. I TOTALLY fit in working for the National Library of Scotland. Unfortunately, I guess I should have mentioned that in the beginning when they asked me why I wanted to work for the NLS. Whoops. Epic fail.

THEN, yesterday I arrive home and check my e-mail to find that the good people at the International Language School, the ones I interviewed with for a position over the summer but didn't get, have some more open positions. They wanted to know if I was still interested and if they could put my CV forward.

So I got from NOTHING for 3 months to suddenly a flux of employment. Awesome. Here's hoping that things ACTUALLY pan out and I get hired. Because lord knows, I need to buy MORE YARN.

After 3 months of NOTHING from any of my FOUR temp agencies, I finally got a break.

One week cover- back at the NHS.

Starting at 7:30 in the morning. I HAVE TO WAKE UP AT 5:45! Ugh. After such a long mini-break of getting to sleep in until 10, I now have to wake up with the birds.

Thank god it's only for a week.

Bed time.

Another day, another Recruitment Agency crossed off the list...I honestly believe that I have signed up to EVERY temp agency in this city.

But I totally broke my typing record...

64 words per minute baby! BOOYAH!

And the temp agency signed me up for their 'stand by' list- meaning that I am supposed to be dressed and ready on stand by alert to work anywhere between 8 and 9 in the morning. And while I TOTALLY need whatever hours I can get, my body is SO not used to waking up before 9. Damn you, lack of jobs and your reinforcement of my laziness. But I plan on meeting it half way- while I plan to get up by 8 and get ready, I won't get all 'office apparelled' until I get the call. I hate falling into ruts like this where not having anything to get up for only depresses me and makes me want to stay in bed, but then waking up early for nothing only realise how much nothing I have to do...and you can only clean and re-clean the kitchen so many times in one day.

I know everyone has one of those days when they just don't want to get out of bed. But for me, its seriously become a 'why even get out of bed- there's nothing to get up for' kind of depression. And I hate it. I wish wish wish I had something to get up for. Because waking up for something denotes a purpose, and at the moment, I have no purpose!

Every fracking day is the same: I get up when I force myself to, spend all day online looking for jobs, filling out applications, and sending off CVs and cover letters. Sometimes, the only time I leave the house is when Scottie gets home and we go out to buy groceries. Sad, super sad, I know. I have been trying to make use of the clear weather to get some walking and exercise in, but lately, the Arctic winds of death are driving invisible ice shrapnel into my blood stream, while a deluge of grit and dirt make a bee line for my eyes. At the moment, being outside walking about is so not the place I want to be.

Today was one of those days that I wish I just never left the house, much less my bed. In order to be somewhat productive and do something with my life that isn't moping around the house, I've been tossing around the idea of joining a gym. My friend Zonko has been getting on my case about it and said that it would at least perk me up and give me something to do. I'm not so sure about that perking up thing, because the last time I went with her to the gym I came home and had a emotional meltdown- talk about total endorphin fail- but at least she is right about it giving me something to do.

So today I had a meeting with someone from Virgin Active to get a tour of the gym there. Nice, I suppose, and the lady gave me a free pass to use tomorrow, so we shall see if I survive that, but then came the payment details. £46 off peak. WTF?!? Being unemployed as I am, I was really in hoping for something under 40 quid. I mean, it was a nice gym and all, but soooooooooo not worth £46. Especially since I wouldn't be able to attend any of the classes I was interested in.

After hicking it back from Virgin, I then left to trek over to the opposite side of Edinburgh to the Barcelo gym found in the Carlton Hotel. They had offered to give me a free 3 day pass starting next week, and are £37 a month. They are a very small gym, but have all the bits and bobs I suppose you would need. However, they only offer 6 or 12 month contracts. Since I may not be in Edinburgh in 6 months, I don't really want to commit to that. After treking back from the Carlton, I went on line to do some more job searching and found one for a cafe in Cannongate, posted on the 23rd. It said to drop in your CV, and because I'm desperate for a job, back across the city I went. To be told they had already filled the position. In less than 3 days.

This right here is a VERY SAD PANDA.So basically, today I walked a total of (and I totally just calculted it on Google Maps) 5.5 miles today FOR NOTHING. The job was a bust, the gyms as waaaaaaay too expensive for someone unemployed, and all the while, it was FREEZING, it was WINDY and after and hour of being camped out in front of the heater, I am still cold inside.

Bllllllllllllerrrrrrrrrrrrrg.

After weeks of applying for jobs, I finally landed an interview. FINALLY. Because so far, these temp agencies are epically failing. I even signed up to another one yesterday and nothing.

So yes, my first interview in weeks, and lo and behold, I am also the first candidate scheduled. Excellent. I've read over the job details, I know I could do this with my hands tied behind my back, and I'm feeling really good about it. I even woke up this morning excited, danced around the flat to Britney Spears, and totally pumped myself up with the 'Yes, you will totally GET THIS JOB' spirit.

The bus, even though it came 6 minutes late, dropped me off exactly in front of the building's doors and I found the room with no problem. I was even 10 minutes early.

After reading the brochure on what the school was all about, I was led into the interview room and asked questions by two of the ladies in charge. So far so good. Then, when it came time for the second woman to grill me, the fire alarm goes off.

'Don't worry, it's just a drill'
'No, the drills are on Thrusday'
'Oh yeah....maybe I should go see what that is'
The one lady gets up to check while I just sit there with a dumb smile on my face.
'Yeah, it's not a drill. We have to evacuate'

So halfway through with my interview, the building is evacuated and the firemen are called to make sure that we won't die. Turns out the cleaner was hoovering up some dust left by the builders. Some how the dust got blown up into the fire alarm, and apparently dust and smoke are identically because the alarm went off. Or so went the rumour around the students.

Anyway, we went back to the interview and fingers crossed, they want to hire me. However, they still have 2 more days of interviews. BUT, I am hoping that my attitude of 'I already HAVE this job, so stop wasting your time and tell me where to sign' will transmogrify into reality.

I applied for two positions at the school but only received the information for one of the positions. So I thought they had just thought me a better candidate for the academic assistant position. Turns out they just forgot to send me in information on the other position, so the lady just said to send her an e-mail after looking the information over to see which one I preferred. I WANT to see this as a sign that they totally have already hired me in their head for something and just want to know which one to give me.

Of course, I always tend to leave interviews feeling like I aced them. Obviously that hasn't turned out to be true because all of my jobs have been through temp agencies, where the employer is just suck with you no matter how crappy or amazing you are at your job.

Oh- I did get a look at some of the competition. While we were waiting outside for the fire trucks to arrive, I saw this woman who didn't look like a student standing around. But then, on the other hand, she did have black tights with a MASSIVE run down the front from knee to ankle and was wearing a short frilly little skirt with flowers on it. Kinda like the one I have from H&M that I only wear on a drunken night out. Then I saw here again in the waiting room...yep, candidate numero duo. She had a total smokers grovelly voice too. Shady 2, unprofessional looking smoker, 0.

Yesterday I went to register with my SECOND temp agency. Because I figure, you might as well sew your seed in as many places as possible.

The good news is that it turns out I didn't really lie on my CV. On my CV, I stretched the truth to say I was 'Extremely proficient in MS Office' and 'Can type over 50 words/min'. Honestly, I had no idea if this was true when I wrote my CV up. All I remember is that in High school computer class, I got a B+ because I had 'shifty eyes' (thank you Mr. Asshole. Shifty eyes is NOT a reason to give someone a B. I think you were just being RACIST!) and that I used Word a lot to write papers.

Turns out that I can in fact type 53 words a minute with 98% accuracy (holla!) and scored above average on Microsoft Word. Giggidy.

The bad news is that the temp agency said they were swamped and that it might be a while before they could find placement for me. But I figured as much in this economy.

Which is why, in true Shady style, I stole all the pens. What, they were really nice pens! Good weight, smooth writing..just begging to be put in my purse. I also might have grabbed all the candies in the interview rooms. Yes rooms, I was placed in one to fill out paperwork, and another one to have a 'chat' about what kind of jobs i was looking for. Both held little dishes with candy in them. Well, not any more. Now I have a pocket full of pens and candy.

Totally owned you, temp agency and your lack of jobs!

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!

The weekend after handing over that bound, 67 page dissertation fell on one of the fortnightly dinners with my boyfriends parents. While we all sat down to one of the few authentic and delicious Chinese meals in Edinburgh, I was naturally bombarded with thousands of questions about where my life was now heading. 'Erm...,' I paused in between bites of beef with garlic sauce, 'well, I only handed my dissertation in 2 days ago, and haven't really thought much beyond that.' 'Well,' by boyfriend's dad replied, 'you should have a wee holiday. You've worked so hard all year, you deserve a few weeks off to rest and enjoy yourself.' And boy did I plan to.

The following two weeks, as was expected, was spent consuming large amounts of alcohol and pretending that it was well deserved or that since this was the last time everyone from our course would be together, we might as well go out guns blazing on a major rager. But honestly, two weeks is enough for me. I'm not what you would call a workaholic, but I get antsy when there is nothing to be done...and so far, when I am not recovering from the night before, I am puttering around the house looking for something- anything- to do: wash all the dishes, dust all the furniture, scrub all the mould from the shower, wash the windows, iron every article of cloth that exists, etc, etc, etc. And all the while, while at least one of my old coursemates is busy recovering from the night before by planning the same night out and complaining about her dwindling funds, I am secretly applying for as many jobs as I can find.

The depressing aspect about my degree is how utterly useless it is in life. While my boyfriend studied infectious diseases in the hopes of one day curing HIV, all I can pretty much do is confirm that things look old. Or at least argue that old things are somehow relevant to the modern age. This leaves a lot of uninteresting job opportunities for me, such as the exciting world of secretarial work! The fascinating life of administration! The mind-boggling merriment of sitting day in and day out in an office somewhere doing something completely unrelated to what I worked hard to succeed in for 5 years.

Actually, in all honesty, I would be working right this very minute if I wasn't so damn susceptible to peer pressure. I know I need money ASAP, so the logical, smart thing that I would have done, having spent a week 'relaxing,' would have been to go to the temp. agency. I've used temp agencies before, and guaranteed, I was always given some sort of clerical job that paid well within that week. It was wonderful...constant employment and a cheque every week. But then I let myself get talked into going on this trip to the Islands....

So, here is where it stands. 1) I have no money and am putting everything on my credit card. 2) I am utterly annoyed with the incompetence of my fellow traveller, who quite frankly wouldn't be able to figure out which direction to take a bus on a one way street. 3) It means that I am delaying my sweet temp agency job for another week, and thus reiterating that 4) I have no money!!! I keep telling myself that this trip will be fun, that seeing the islands will be a new and unique experience, and that I might as well do this while I'm young because I'll never get the chance again, yada yada yada. But so far, planning this trip, though not my idea, has ended up being left up to me to plan. I researched the hostel (only 2 folks, on the whole island, and an hour apart from each other), researched the bus time table (one bus every 2 hours going from tip to tip), and figured out how we would be able to get our butts from the hostel to Iona and back without being stranded on the bloody little island, population 700 (ferry leaves at 1500, after that, find a warm sheep to cuddle up with). Meanwhile, all my companion has done is look to see what castles exist on the islands (not noticing that 80% of them can only be accessed with a car), whine to me that I'm making her walk 3 miles in order to see two castles in one day ('why can't we take a taxi?'), and go on and on about the new boots she just bought specifically for this trip (her Calvin Kline and Jessica Simpson boots would 'so' not work).

All this trip planning naturally had to go hand in hand with a major allergic reaction I had with a newly purchased makeup, which left my face swollen with a thick cover of small, itchy little bumps that haven't quite all gone away, leaving me perpetually feeling like Quasimodo. Great. So stressed about being poor, stressed about going on this trip with L.A. Barbie, stressed about my deformed face, and stressed about how poor the combination of everything is making me.

I am so going to need a vacation after all of this.