Is that a scowl, a frown or a grimace?

Today has been a pisser of a day. One of those days that leave you wondering just how low you need to set the bar in order not to be disappointed.

To start it all off, I emerged from my bedroom this morning to hear distressed mewing from the next room. Yep. You've guessed it. She did it again. Is this some sort of cry for help? If so, then I am decidedly unimpressed. And I've noticed that the kebab shop up the road looks like it could be dodgy enough to take her off my hands. They might even give me a bag of chips for my troubles.

The rescue effort caused me to be late for work, but I quickly wished it had made me even later. Why is it that things never go catastrophically tits up months in advance of a deadline, when I have plenty of time to fix them? Instead, some higher power has deemed that the last minute is the ideal time to throw a few well-chosen spanners into the works, just to keep me on my toes. I don't need to be kept on my toes. I live in a perpetual state of fretfulness and anxiety. If I spent any more time on my toes, I'd have to buy pointe shoes.

To top it all off I tripped over a kerb on the way home, ripped my tights (and my knee) and landed with both hands in a filthy puddle. A man watched this happen and, instead of expressing concern or helping me up, stood there and laughed at me as I knelt on the pavement bleeding and wiping my mucky hands on my ruined tights.

Oh, and I dropped my last sausage in a glass of diet coke. No, I don't know how I managed it either, but if that's not the ultimate postmonition of the day from hell, I don't know what is.

I'm going to bed.

Sqeeeeeeeek!

Today I shrieked down the phone at a customer. Possibly not the finest move, professionally speaking. Luckily, he was a nice customer, and laughed when I apologised and explained to him that a mouse had just run past, mere inches from my foot. To clarify, I'm not frightened of mice, but unexpected, fast-moving animals, in close proximity to my person, can be a little startling. And I certainly do not expect to see such things at work given that I'm employed in accounts, not forestry.

And breathe.....

So.....a facebook status bemoaning my awful day yesterday prompted a surprisingly large number of people to invite me out. One of the offers was taken up, and I was taken out for drinks and pizza. More importantly I had the opportunity to splurge the whole exasperating incident at a sympathetic ear, take a deep breath and let it go. All gone. Well.......perhaps there's still a bit of niggling rancour remaining, but it no longer dominates my thought processes as it did yesterday.

As a little treat today, I got to sneak out of the office briefly to watch a few moments of the Egypt vs Serbia Olympic volleyball test match. This was surprisingly entertaining, although my disinterest in sport is such that my personal highlight was the rows of boys who lined up and engaged in surprisingly intricately choreographed synchronised sweeping routines over the pitch - presumably in order to prevent the players from slipping on the own sweat. Nice thought, huh?

Working out

I'm going away this weekend for work. Even though I'll be working over the weekend, and I'm only going to Yorkshire, I'm actually somewhat excited. This is mostly because I get to say I'm going away on business. "Yah....yah......no, I can't this weekend. I'm going away on business". Doesn't that make me sound important? I'm not, but it's fun to pretend sometimes.

Faintly embarassing

Yesterday I had a bit of an incident at work, and managed to faint in the corridor on my way to the office. Despite my assurances that I was perfectly able to work (which I wasn't), and would no doubt feel much better soon (which I didn't), my line manager insisted on putting me in a cab home. I dozed on and off during the journey, picking up odd snippets of opinionated peoples' commentary on the Greek economic crisis from the radio, and experiencing strange moments of not-quite-lucidity. At one point the cab pulled up at a set of traffic lights and, out of the window, I glimpsed a huge shiny sign for an 'agnostic centre'. My addled brain was churning with the idea of a centre hosting endless debates on any and all subjects, none of which could ever be permitted to reach a conclusion, when the car moved on a fraction, and the sign was further revealed to read 'DIagnostic centre'. How disappointing. But by then I had nodded off again, wakening a little later to be struck with intense pity for the headless mannequin in a nearby shop window, which was reaching out its hand, with a peculiar gesture of yearning, towards another mannequin which, despite also being headless, was quite clearly turning dismissively away.

Needless to say, I was hugely relieved to get home and safely tucked up in bed, where I spent the remainder of the day wavering between sleeping and waking, periods of feeling fine, and others of room-spinning vertigo. So far this morning, the bad phases seem to be much fewer and farther between, but I still feel decidedly wobbly. I don't know what to blame for it. Labyrinthitis has been suggested, but I don't really think it's bad enough to be that. Besides, wouldn't I have an earache? All I have is a headache. Oh well. If I don't feel better by Monday, I'll go to the doctor. Until then I shall just self-prescribe a quiet day, and hope that I'm well enough to help L with her van loading tomorrow as promised.

Hold Please

I'm becoming quite the expert on the hold music genre. I fail to understand why anybody thinks it's a good idea to traumatise their callers with the dulcet tones of a blarting keyboard labouring away at Greensleeves, or the Moonlight Sonata as played on a child's toy xylophone. Worse still is the Americans, who insist on playing adverts to you while you wait. By the time I actually get to speak to a human being every nerve in my body is shrieking at me to hang up the phone. Perhaps that's the point? On the other hand, it can really brighten my mood if some company decides to play me a little Kings of Leon, as happened a couple of days ago. In reality I'm still sitting quietly at my desk, but in my head I'm having a little boogie. It's very cheering.

Today I learned...

...that it's not the done thing to get excited about stationery. My exclamation, upon being presented with a box full of shiny new staplers and rulers and things, that it was 'just like Christmas!', was met with the blankest of blank stares from the box-bearer. Judge all you like, stationery lady. Some of us have to get our kicks where we can!

One week in

I've finished my first week at the new job and, while I could cry with the sheer exhaustion of unaccustomed work schedules and unecessarily extreme anxiety, I'm actually really happy about things. Now that the initial feeling of OhgodwhatifIcan'tdoitwhatifImakeafoolofmyselfwhatiftheyallhateme has dissipated somewhat, I'm beginning to think that I could be perfectly content in this job. Everybody's been really friendly and, thus far and as far as I know, I seem to have avoided any graphic displays of gross incompetence or idiocy. It's nice to feel hopeful about the future after months of desperate job-hunting, so here's hoping I make it through the probation period without cocking it all up. I'd be devastated if I had to start over with the endless stream of fruitless applications and daytime television.

In the meantime, I need to acquire some new clothes. At the library they didn't really mind what I wore, so I cheerfully pranced around in my usual array of clownish outfits, piercings and cleavage, but I need to be a bit more appropriately attired now, and lack the resources. Far too many of my clothes are too tatty, low-cut or outlandish for an office environment; even one that seems to be fairly casual. I'm informed that "as long as you don't dress like a bum or a slag you'll be alright", but I suspect that my usual ambition to look like I tumbled into a fancy dress box may be frowned upon too. I can't keep wearing my mother's hand me downs for long, so I suspect that a chunk of my first paycheque will have to be invested in a work wardrobe. Of course I'd much rather spend it on tutus and corsets, but there are times when even I am forced to acknowledge the necessity of behaving like a grown up..

Whistle while you work

I started my new job this week. A quick scroll back through my previous posts reveals to me that I neglected to mention that I'd got a job. It's all rather a huge relief, and a testament to the importance of whinging about your unemployment at every opportunity, especially when at the pub. Sooner or later someone is bound to hear you and say "I've got a job you can have". Possibly just to shut you up.
Anyway, back to the point. I realised that it's been about four years since I last worked full-time, so I anticipate high levels of exhaustion until I get used to it again. Last night I was so knackered that I was in bed by 8:30, which is a little pathetic I admit, but it's 8:43 now and I'm still just about awake, so evidently I'm acclimatising already. Nervousness is surprisingly tiring you know, and I was very nervous indeed. I'm informed that I looked a little less terrified today than I did yesterday, but given that every glimpse I got of my reflection yesterday showed something resembling a small white rabbit that's just realised an entire herd of ressurected mammoths is headed straight at it, that's probably not saying much. In my defence, the job is very new to me, and I challenge anyone not to be a little alarmed by spreadsheets with figures in the hundreds of thousands, when their previous experience of finance runs to "I'm afraid that book's late and there's a fine on it. That'll be 17p please".

Things that make me smile No.67

Somebody just pointed me towards the Savage Chickens page, and I immediately stumbled across this comic. I may have to start being good.

popularity

A woman in the library was trying to persuade her child, who was about seven years old, to take out a book entitled How to be Popular. A fairly heinous message to try and force on a child, I'm sure you'll agree, but the kid's response was wonderful.
"But I don't want to be popular, Mummy" she said. "I have two friends. That's lots."

A well-shod shell

Oh dear, a whole fortnight without posting. Bad blogger! Still, now that my library contract is over, I'll have a fair bit of time on my hands. The silver lining of unemployment?
Incidentally, I didn't get that job I wanted. I was horribly disappointed, but a little bit of a cry and a slightly larger bit of wine cheered me up, as did this:



I challenge you to watch this and not smile!

Tenterhooks

Every week I apply for a whole sheaf of jobs. I've yet to get an interview for any of them, which is irritating since I really need a job, but not catastrophic as I don't actually care for the jobs themselves. Today, however, is the closing date for one that I applied for a couple of weeks ago, and which I really want. Really really want. See those italics? That's how much I want this job. I'd underline it too, but it's possible to go too far with these things. I'm now just playing a waiting game and doing pointless maths in my head. Say it takes them a day to go through all the applications and discount all the duds...another day to go through all the possibles and make a shortlist...that's Thursday afternoon...but they'd probably leave it till Friday to make the calls...or would they just wait until Monday? I'm driving myself a bit loopy basically. And while time seems to be stretching itself out like a rubber band where this is concerned, it's just pinged itself back with a snap in another area of my life. I suddenly remembered last night that I'm supposed to have my book down by tonight for the play I'm rehearsing, and I haven't even started learning my lines yet. Oops. I can learn an entire play in a day, right?

How high is a ladder?

I'm mildly amused that the person spec for one of the jobs I just applied for includes "Must have a good head for heights". It's a library, people, not the Empire State Building.

Libraries - Also full of confused old people

Man: Is this library card valid here?

Me: Nope, that's Westminster. We're ***********.

Man: This one?

Me: No, that one's Brent.

Man: What about this one?

Me: No sir. That's a Boots Advantage card.

Libraries - full of crazy people

Me: Your session's over. The computer's booked for somebody else now.


Man: We didn't realise it was making so much noise. If we'd known we'd have gone to sleep.

Me: Ok. Could you let the next person onto the computer please.

Man: (moving) We didn't realise. It's a pity it's a pig.

Me: Thanks

Man: Ok. Keep drinking. Stay in control mate.
 
Me: Er...ok. Bye.

Hop little bunnies!

I do baby rhymetime sessions sometimes at work. I quite enjoy it really, but it does require some forward planning when getting dressed in the morning. For instance, it's obviously a lot easier to crawl around on the floor with small children, or under the bookshelves to plug the cd player in, if you remember to wear trousers. It's also, as I discovered on Friday, a good idea to wear...how shall I put this?...adequately supportive undergarments. It's quite difficult to dance around to "hop, hop, hop little bunnies" when you have to hold your arms over your chest for fear of giving yourself two black eyes.

What is the world coming to?

Yesterday a man in the library threw a book at my head because there weren't any slots left on the computers. Minor concussion and a tory government all in one day? I despair.

Highly visible

Yesterday I spent the day working for one of London's major tourist attractions. The job involved standing around in the cold asking people whether they wanted to visit the exhibition. Most importantly, it also involved my first ever high-visibility jacket. The jacket makes you look official. Unfortunately, the employer's logo is very small, so it just makes you look generally official, which means you get asked a lot of questions that do not in any way pertain to the job you're supposed to be doing. These range from the logical to the completely inane.
'Where is the nearest tube station/toilet/McDonalds?'
'Is there a height restriction to go over the bridge?'
'Why did they build a castle right in the busiest part of London?'
And my personal favourite. 'You know the Union Jack?' I nod to acknowledge I have heard of such a beast. 'Which of the stripy bits represents which country?'

It was bitingly cold by the river. It actually hailed at one point. I was wearing afore-mentioned flourescent yellow jacket with two fleeces, a cardigan, a long-sleeved top, a short-sleeved top and a thermal vest. For the record, this little lot is not enough to keep you warm. It is also not enough to stop men attempting to stare at your tits. Seriously mister, what can you possibly hope to see through that lot? The high-vis jacket may not protect you from perves, but it does make you highly visible to cyclists. Unfortunately, they being Evil London Cyclists, this just means they have something clear to aim for.

Things that make me smile No.45

Looking out of the window at work I thought it was snowing. When I went for a closer look I saw a man on an abseiling harness dangling from the office block opposite. With bucket and squeegee in hand, he laughed as he liberally showered passers by with soap suds. Extreme window-cleaning. How wonderful!