Another job application

Another job application filled in - and handed in at the last minute (but just on time). On paper I have just about all that they are asking for. On paper I should be a good candidate. But will I get an interview - who can say. I hope so. Just have to move on to the next application.

Filling in endless applications can be soul destroying and monotonous but it has to be done.

We will see.

Not being paid- again

I got my payslip from Mencap early this month and what a bloody mess. They haven't paid me again. I know that I only work as and when and that my hours have to be input every month but it is so frustrating that when I really need the money like now I just don't get it. They already owed me 6 hours (which I have been owed for a couple of months) and now it just got worse. Those of you who know me, or have been reading my blog will know that I am not doing so great with money at mo so every penny counts.

We are hoping to have a very cheap but fun camping holiday - I have saved some money to go and was counting on my wages to help with the costs. And now no wages - and I am worrying how I am going to pay for the holiday.

Trouble is I really need a break - time away from home, from bills, from stress and worry. And I should be able to count on my wages when I have earnt them. I shouldn't have to beg for money I am owed. But seems like I so often am. I have got to get a job that pays every month and is regular and not too badly paid.

I feel angry and upset and worried and stressed and well thoroughly pissed off - and all I want is my wages. I cried at work when I told them about it as it has really upset me - I made plans that might just about work and now it is all well, buggered.

Life's just a bitch. Maybe I should check my lottery tickets - that will be another downer!!!

Mog

Last night

Last night me and JC went to a Uni do. She really didn't want to go and I kinda made her - which gave me a huge responsibility. Then all day I was thinking of ways of not going and in the end I just thought why I am so worried - just go say goodbye to the course leader and come away. So we went - with huge trepidation.

Anyway when I got there I felt ok. There wasn't anyone else from my year and it was a nice relaxed atmosphere. I spoke to my Visual lecturer, (and I think JC is actually right in what she said about him but that's another story), I spoke to the Course Leader and got to say thank you - and got to say that it really did matter and it really had made a major difference to my life and thank you, thank you, thank you. I spoke about football to the poetry guy and it was a nice night.

So we decided to go - our time was over - I even spoke to 'folder holder' but just hello but JC didn't (but that's another post).

Then as we were leaving two students turned up who we worked with and really liked, especially N and it was just like being back in the old days. So much creativity just oozing out of us - ideas and challenges and a definite push to get the Cherry Picker published (how great would that be). We sat for absolutely ages just talking ideas and JC looked so alive and so happy and it was just well, FAB. I got ideas for stories and was able to make promises to take work with me for a meeting next month to talk about our work and start putting it together for CP.

I am so glad I went. I am so glad it was so positive and brilliant. I have a positive closure and a way forward.

Just thankful I was brave enough.

Return - After

He stops at the gate and waits, staring at the ornate metal work chosen by his mother to be shaped like a rose. He pushes the gate gently, at first, then much firmer, much harder. It squeals open. The noise reminds him of a coffin lid opening from the black and white Hammer Horror films of his youth.

He walks purposefully up the path; stepping over the weeds pushing up through the gaps in the slabs. It was never like this before. Never. This garden was always neatly weeded, flowers deadheaded, daffodils cuts and tied – the flower beds carefully hoed. The lawn edged neat and dead straight – no blade of grass uneven.

Now the flowerbeds are undistinguishable from the lawn.

The Royal Blue door stands shut in front of him, layers of paint peeling away in finger tip sized circles exposing the colours underneath. Each layer showing the same Royal Blue but each slightly more faded.

He knocks at the door, quietly at first then persistently, knocking again and again. He waits a response. None comes. Nobody answers. Nobody comes. He rings the doorbell, moving closer to the door, placing his ear again the cool paint work to hear it ringing. There is no sound. The doorbell is dead.

He tries the door handle. And stops, his heart beating so loud it echoes in his head. Then he remembers the endless days of rushing through this door; announcing his homecoming and forgetting to shut the door behind him. His mother shouting ‘You make enough noise to wake the dead and put the wood in the hole will you’.

And for that moment he wants to rush through the door and shout, shout his arrival. He pushes the door open and steps inside. ‘I’m home’ he says. His words are spoken quietly, softly to no one there. The words do not reverberate outside of him.

Suddenly he smells a memory. A memory masked by the smell of uninhabited musky dust and damp. Fighting through the years – the smell of floral antiseptic and wax furniture polish; the smell of red hot ironed cotton; the smell of yesterday’s poached fish and boiling beef stew; the smell of stale Embassy No 6 and freshly scrubbed ash trays. The smells of his youth. The smells of his mother.

Loved

It felt good for a while.
Just for a moment.

It felt right.
It felt like the right thing
just for a while.

It made me feel
just for a while.

It made me feel nice.
It made me feel
like a woman.
Just for a while.

Just for a while
I felt loved.



June 2010