Honestly, I am not sure how I ever fitted in a job. It is 2pm, and I am struggling to figure out what I have achieved since 8am this morning. Suffice to say I have not yet left the house. The incessant rain doesn’t help, mind you, but it seems to have taken me half the day to achieve what I would normally have done in an hour after work. WTAF. What the Actual Fluck. I’ve showered-admittedly an achievement in itself but hardly cause for celebration -I’ve done my physio (without too much moaning), breakfasted, snacked and lunched, and done multo-job searching on the Internet, but REALLY?? Six hours??? Tormented I am. Someone once described this phenomenon to me as being like Boyle’s Law of physics, where all the particles of a gas spread out to fill the available space -the small jobs of the day can spread out magnificently, making you feel like you have no time to do anything, but in reality achieving very little. Fecking Boyle. I never liked him anyway, the productive bastard.
More worryingly, all this free time is turning me into quite the menace on social media. She who is by nature a complete silent lurker on Facebook has so far this morning shared about six Donald Trump related articles and gone frantically ‘liking’ anything that denounces him. (Do you denounce Donald and all his evil works? I do.) Additionally, it appears that all skepticism has been put on hold and I subjected three WhatsApp groups and ten of my closest friends to a scam that claimed to give me free Emirates flights. WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME??? Where is the cynical silent cyber type we all know and love??? Or at the very least that we don’t dislike and block from the group?? (Which is no less than what I deserve, after the whole Emirates Embarrassment). I will have to take myself in hand. Or in boots, to go searching for work, and keep me out of harm’s way.
Good lord, the rain. Incessant, it is, and I do not have the footwear for this kind of carry on. My Dunnes Stores suede boots were not meant for this weather, and quite frankly I might as well not be wearing them. I am currently squelching around in sopping socks, that have, through some sort of capillary action, drawn the water up through my jeans to about knee level. It is most miserable and off-putting. Twice I have had to sacrifice my feet to such abuse, for more traipsing and mumbling about CVs. Most people are still being nice, although I can tell from their faces that they do not have the slightest notion of hiring me. I suppose I can’t start the moaning yet though- it has only been two days. I have also figured out that yesterday’s restaurant man is most likely to have said he has a 24 hour contract available, for which he will consider me, among others. I don’t fancy my chances. ‘Others’ sound highly accomplished and intimidating, with their presumed fluent French and lack of stammer. However, I am refusing point blank to apply for the jobs in these ‘clubs privé’ that keep popping up on the employment websites. They sound far too like strip clubs for my liking, and fortunately, we are not there yet.