Hot water bottle days

This:


Feels like FOREVER ago.

It was three weeks. Getting snuggly with my hot water bottle (and yes I mean literally my hot water bottle, it's not some new pet name for LB) the last week has flown by, for a week of stagnating days of not much, very little and occasionally something. It is MISERABLY cold here at the moment and I am so beyond bored of the interpretative dance that is getting into and out of jeans over thermal tights and socks each day. I miss dresses and havianas and sunglasses. I even miss the round-the-clock application of sunscreen. It is cold and it is grey and lately, it is wet. A winning trifecta of meteorological crapness if ever there was one.

Not much has been happening of late. My MA results come out next week (cue viciously vivid dreams where I wander square down the middle of the road towards would-be academic glory. In the one dream where I did emerge scholastically triumphant I also won an Oscar so I'm not sure how likely that outcome is....) But yes, results next week and I can only hope the exacting ratio of tears : caffeine consumption : all night brain frying sessions that I worked so hard on pays off in the way I hope. Which is Oscars glory all the way baby.

The job hunting continues with all the zest of a hunter turned vegetarian. A little well-timed research has revealed that while still on my student visa I'm technically not allowed to work full-time nor freelance in any capacity. So here's to seven weeks of bar work and temping and plenty of time to find The Job I'm Meant To Have. It's a rather well-established fact that I don't cope well with rejection so it's been quite demoralising to send applications off out into the universe only to hear, well, zero in reply. Fatalism 101. Which is better than Pessimism 101 I suppose but the whole merry-go-round still rather sucks.

It's been an emotionally draining few days with family dramas on the home front and frozen ears on the head front and a shocking dose of insomnia to bring the whole thing together. Poor LB - between the whiny demoralising self-pity about the lack of job and now the ceaseless flow of tears over old emotional wounds freshly picked it's a wonder he's still sane. Never mind sticking with me. The magnitude of my thank you will know no bounds once I am happily through my Beige Period (with thanks to Picasso). Until then, my hot water bottle needs refilling.

Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

It's rather difficult to find interesting and/or charming things to write about when one's day is defined by some combination of the following:

- Over-sleeping for lack of anywhere to be/anything to do

- Applying for unpaid internships

- Applying for may-as-well-be unpaid jobs in the arts

- Struggling into and out of thermal tights, jeans, two pairs of socks, boots, three jumpers, a scarf, a pair of mittens, a woolly hat and a coat. Just to walk to the shops for Diet Coke.

- Midday TV re-runs of that under-rated 90s classic Models Inc.

- Eating

- Pondering the pay off... spiritually rich versus literally poor?

- Wondering how on earth to spend the other four days of the working week


The jetlag has now passed. My fondness for late night snuggles with the hot water bottle continues unabated and the days slowly tick by as I trawl for jobs, inspiration and anything that might stay my increasingly tenuous hold on the old self-esteem.

There are a few leads yet to be exhausted and some slow burn projects to keep me reasonably occupied but mostly I just fret. And try to stay to stay out of the cold.

And so it begins

Hello two thousand and ten. We meet at last. Gulp. You, me, unemployment and a fucking big freeze that has London and I frozen through to our very tippy toes. Where oh where is this year going to take us I can only begin to wonder...

LB and I returned to London yesterday after a glorious three weeks in Sydney. Swimming and stone fruits and family and frozen margaritas on Bondi Beach and friends and barbeques and more swimming. And sun. Lots and lots of sun. It was terrible.

Jetlag notwithstanding, today has been reasonably productive with an extensive but thus far fruitless job hunt, a vat of hot homemade soup and a resolution to see 2010 the year of making friends.

Truth: I am freaking out/panicking/anxious/worrying excessively about what this year has in store. The last time I was without job prospects I was, well, come to think of it, I've never been short of a possible something somewhere and job hunting is so 2009 for someone rapidly approaching 30 and still struggling to describe herself professionally in 25 words or less. I say professionally because undoubtedly there are 25,000 words to describe me otherwise, with "neurotic" and "punishing to be around" currently in contention for the top spots...

My horoscope (ever a reliable indicator of success) informs me that January will be the start of tremendous professional accomplishments and a highly memorable year. Does anyone know if you can sue the planets if they get it wrong?

Anyhoo, me, my jetlag and my hot water bottle are off to bed. It's snowing outside and a balmy 1 degree. Fantastic.

Let the year begin....