I sometimes worry about writing blog posts expressing negativity as I don’t want to be seem as that grumpy, miserable, depressing bastard to avoid.
However I have checked the last 20 posts and I reckon you could only count 3 of them as at least semi-miserable. The 20 prior, I don’t think any of them are miserable. And if you include all my music, politics, football and roast dinner blogs, then you are looking at roughly 1 in 2-300 that have espouse negative emotions (do shit roast dinners count?).
Writing when I am fucked off is quite cathartic. And I like to think that there is more self-defecating humour than psychological wrist-slitting shit going on. I tend to feel better afterwards anyway.
So today I set my alarm for 6:30am. Why on earth would an unemployed person do such a thing?
Well, I had a hair appointment across the other side of London at 9am. Thankfully I then shortly received a message to postpone – I really was not keen on a rush hour commute across London when I didn’t need to – why the fuck did I even think that was a good idea?
So I laid in bed for around 1.5 hours. Not sleeping, just listening to the inane ramblings of dumb presenters on Talksport banging on yet again about Arsene Fucking Wenger. By the way – there is going to be a bit of swearing in here.
I then proceeded to sit at my computer for a while, checked some e-mails, checked Facebook, looked at some jobs that I’m not vaguely qualified for, checked Facebook for the 5th time today, checked my e-mails again, checked Facebook again, and again. This pattern went on until around 2pm.
I did go to the bank, and make myself a fairly unhealthy breakfast. I also read a bit of my book about John Peel (strange how I revere a DJ so much who played so much music I couldn’t stand listening to). But generally I did fuck all.
Quite a bit of the time I spent staring at the domain sign-up screen for my next web project that will probably get me absolutely nowhere. I had quite the plan for today, with a wish to do at least 5 hours of coding towards my new project. It isn’t exactly as if I am planning something difficult, just buy a domain, start a new website, copy and paste an earlier structure, change a few styling bits and fill the content in.
But I simply had, and have, no motivation whatsoever. Right now, I am fucked off. Angry, frustrated, miserable, grumpy…worried.
It started yesterday. I was happy sat in the sun. But I started worrying about whether I will ever get a job. Whether I am doing the right things to get a job. Why isn’t my plan working? Why doesn’t anyone want to give me a job? Do I smell?
It feels like I have reached this nadir where I am questioning the point of putting in any more effort into my job search. I feel like giving up. Why am I still spending 40-50 hours a week coding/studying whilst not getting a job? What is the fucking point?
Without doubt, it is a temporary frame of mind. I’ve just been for a walk to Morrison’s and I actually felt myself get more and more miserable, the more that I thought about my scenario. But I’ve been through this in January – being unemployed is psychologically fucking tough, especially all that rejection. I have never been very good at dealing with rejection.
During January I drank quite a lot too, often by myself, sometimes during the day – a negative virtuous circle. Unsurprisingly, I was much happier and more productive during detox, though it isn’t exactly as if I have been drinking loads since then.
However I have just poured myself a vodka red bull prior to writing this. This is a fucking miserable blog post isn’t it?
Did I mention that I’ve put on 3kg in weight recently?
The other thing that really pisses me off, which is totally connected, is not having any money. I did do a bit of market research recently but that seems to have dried up, and some mystery shopping but there are no decent paid ones out there right now. I have been filling surveys out too, though some of them pay as little as 50p for 15 minutes work – yes £2 an hour. I am half-tempted to get a fucking job sweeping the streets and give up the dream.
I am really fed up of not having any money to do anything, or to buy anything. And I have just had to cancel my subscription to The Economist – though I might try and resubscribe to the new customer £12 for 12 issues deal using a different e-mail address (I have about 20 active e-mail addresses) and different name – I was planning on using the name Tinkerbell Margaret Winfield for my future daughter’s name but given that I’ve not had sex for around 87 centuries I guess I could pretend to be Tinkerbell. Either that or I could write a letter of complaint to John Redwood and ask him to pay for my subscription as part of his compensation plan towards those that believe in the European Union.
Right, hopefully I’ve made you miserable too. I’m going to go bake a cake and then make a pie (yes with lots of fucking gravy) and moan to the checkout machines at Tesco as I try to make them miserable too.
Gosh I wish it were raining. Pouring with rain. I hate sunshine.
On the bright side, at least I’m not an Arsenal fan. That would be truly depressing.