Notice, again...

Got back from Lunch today to be told that I'm finishing up next Friday.

I think I'll quote Captain Darling.

"Bugger."

There, now that's a bit better. Merry Christmas you fuckers.

Living from weekend to weekend

I've just read back the last few posts on here and I've noticed that, like many people, I'm living from one weekend to the next with very little inbetween. Even in the summer. Any posts that I've made during the week are whinges about how boring my job is and how much I dislike which ever of my supervisors is pissing me off that day.

I should be making the most of my evenings, meeting friends in a park, or going to shows at the globe with my boyfriend, but I don't. I've gone back to the pub job so that's Wednesdays and Fridays out of the equation but on the evenings when I'm not working I seem to go home and clean. My new hobby is washing up-or pulling out the cooker/fridge to clean behind them, or re-organising the cupboards (cleaning them as I empty them, obviously).



Shit. I'm turning into my Dad.



I like nothing more than the satisfaction of a clean orderly kitchen side or a freshly made bed and I've always had a weird obsession with washing and washing up. I seem to spend an unreasonable amount of my life hanging socks. None of this would make a particularly good blog post. (So I'm sorry about this one).

I work and clean. That is my life. It will be worth it when I can buy a house outright and spend my evenings in my own garden and my weekends walking along the Pembrokeshire coast.













Additional: I've just booked two tickets to see 'As you like it' at Shakespeares Globe Theatre. After all, for the time being, I live in London. One of the most interesting, busy and cultural cities in the world, I might as well make the most of it until I retire to the countryside.

It's Friday, I should be happy, the start of the weekend and two days of freedom. But I'm not. I'm unprepared for it. I need to wax my legs, wash my hair, find my clothes which seem to be tunnelling their way through to the flat next door. My flat is a state. The mice are getting cheeky and closer to the sleeping part of the room we live in. We're finding cockroaches on a daily basis now. And I've heard nothing about the place that we had put a side to move into once the contract (sentence) is up. In fact I've been told that we shouldn't really start looking until it does expire as we can't do anything until then anyway. Frustration!

That's exactly what it is, I'm frustrated because there's nothing I can do about any of the things that are irritating me. We signed a contract to stay in the flat for a year so that's what we have to do. I asked about the neighbours and as told they were nice. I should have got that in writing because it wasn't true, they were drug dealers that the landlord had been trying to evict for 18 months. When they were evicted and the property seized by the Met police they just took up their usual business in the courtyard. The police would come, search them, tell them to leave and they would be back within 10 minutes.

The other thing that is wrong with the flat is it's infested. There are mice and cockroaches. We noticed the mice as soon as we moved in and had a lone cockroach which Mark dutifully identfyed then released. But since we have new neighbours downstairs there are lots of them. My theory is that they were down there when the place was a drug den/whore house and now that the Summer is here their numbers have exploded and we're getting the overspill. The new neighbours are probably a lot cleaner than the last lot and therefore the roaches are trying to find somewhere they like. The pest control people were informed two weeks ago but because we don't have a doorbell they couldn't get in and we have to wait for another appointment. I don't think they're in a rush.

My job is unchallenging (I'm writing this whilst at work) and at the moment there is actually nothing to do. I'm not joking, nothing. I'm a temp so my job's never safe and I feel like this one is coming to an end. I feel like it came to an end about a month ago but they haven't let me go just in case. I've been looking for another job, I've even worked on my CV but I haven't got a covering letter yet so all of the replies I've got have been rejections. They have also moved the goal posts. I signed up for a job from 9-5:30 now that I've been here a while I'm being put on the t2 shift-9:30-6, no big deal, half an hour either side. I have a pub job I need to start at 6. I told them this. The phone supervisor has pushed and pushed for me to do t2. unrelentlessly. So now I have to and she's putting me on there twice a week. I wonder how long it'll take them to figure out that my absence due to sickness has gone up and seems to coincide with those days. I have to get a cover letter done and get out of here. I want a proper job, but there aren't any out there at the moment. I like the bar job but it means I'm working days and evenings and I'm knackered.

I'll carry this on later, I have to get breakfast. I'm not all that unhappy about my weight at the moment, I'm about a stone over weight, but that's something I can do something about. I'm having horrid porridge.

Moving forward

The weekly meeting was this morning, I've been going to them since I started 'working' here last May and the only thing that has ever concerned me was when we were told that the department was getting an all singing all dancing photocopier/printer/scanner and it turns out that I'll still be using the old one so even that was just a passing interest. As I'm temping here all the 'major changes' and 'trial runs' have meant nothing as what I do is uneffected. But I go so that I feel part of hte team and to show an interest. Showing an interest is becoming more and more difficult so I've started to take a notepad and noting down all the stupid office jargon that's said and the frequency of its use.
Todays meeting lasted 40 minutes and the term "going forward" was used 15 times-that's nearly once every two minutes. It was used by the Manager, phones supervisor, line manager and a few colleages. There was a stage where there was an uncomfortable silence broken soley by these words, I nearly fell off my chair laughing. I really don't know how I heald it together.

Well I think it's time that I 'moved forward' I need a real job, I'm fed up temping. I want the benefits that come with the commitment, not just the commitment of being afraid there will be no job at the end of next week. I've said it's about time I grew up and got some adult responsibilty, and I have to start with a proper job with real prospects. So as the 'system' that's been the talk of these pointless meetings for so long has crashed (again) I'm going to spend the day searching Reed employment and jazzing up my cv.

I've really got to get out of here!

Is forgiveness the same thing as admitting there's nothing you can do to change or even up a situation and learning to live with the frustration that brings?

I hate working Fridays!

Pub work is lame.

That is all.

Prioritise EVERYTHING!

I left my book at the pub last night. It's not a problem, I haven't lost it forever or anything, I work there and it was left on a shelf behind the bar with my scarf. Ironically so that I wouldn't forget it when I left to go home. So this morning on my way to work instead of having my nose in a book I looked around me. I have a particularly nice view on my way to work as I cross Tower Bridge and go along the South Bank a little way, so I really should appriciate it a little more. I watched the Thames swell showing smooth surfaces looking like a balloon streatched and close to bursting and ripples like the same balloon after it had burst, looking old wrinkled and useless. Cormerants on the surface taking a deep breath to dive. It was lovely. There's always something going on in the green outside City Hall and this morning there was a huge inflateable dome that wasn't there yesterday, I'll see what that's all about at lunch time.

I got into work ten minutes early to be greeted by my boss asking if I had finished a task she gave me on Tuesday afternoon. To explain, I've done this before and it took the best part of a week and yesterday I had to go to a meeting, take the minutes and type them up. On top of which she has put me on phone duty which means that as soon as you get any kind of flow for anything you're doing the phone rings and you have to stop. So my reply was "no, I'm afraid I haven't had the time to finish it yet, but I'll get on to it now if you want." She tells me it's a priority to get it done so start it ASAP. I'm not even meant to be here yet and I know she wont sign my timesheet for a minute over my contracted hours. "And the TfL post didn't go out yesterday so can you do that as a priority too?" she added accusitory. She didn't even ask me to do that so that can't be my fault! She's obviously read the word 'priority' in a memo she's recently recieved and got the jist of the meaning but not quite the correct definition, I really want to tell her that if she keeps calling things "priority" it equates to nothing being a priority and that if you want someone to do something you a) have to ask them and b) give then enough time to get it done.

And today started off with so much promise!

Monday, Monday

I didn't get to Super Picnic Sunday, it didn't happen.

Friday was fun, drinks with colleagues then to the Gladstone to see Tom Rodwell again, he never disappoints and this was no different. I stayed in the pub until the bitter end and had a little chat with Tom, he even gave me some careers advice! I wasn't drunk at all, which is surprising because I'd had wine at work then leffe in the pub and either of those on their own usually floors me. I think it might have been the slight intimidation I felt from all the directors that were there, it wouldn't be a good idea to get drunk and start shrieking.

Saturday was shit.
I was left in the cold.
I didn't get the shopping I wanted for Super Picnic Sunday.
The garage next door have a sound system that shakes the foundations of the flat.
I had to go to work.
I was working with my least favourite people.
I was foolish and gave my number to a guy that wants to take me out.
although he left shortly afterwards I know he'll come back, he's asked after me when I've not been working and now I've...

...oh, shit.

I shall send a message declining, I don't know exactly what I'll say, I'll make something up. Don't give me a reason to go, just don't I'll finish us. I know I will.

Sunday was better, I nearly told Mark what's bugging me. But I couldn't formulate the words. However I imagined myself saying it seemed to send the wrong message. I don't want him to hate me but I know from experience that it won't be my defences he jumps to. I'm not the one who started this, and I can see the sneakyness that he can't, the sideways looks checking if I'm around, the guilt that shows a hug means more than it should. It's not for me to point it out again, I'll be left with and "I told you so" and a broken heart. We went over to Mark's brothers for dinner Kelly had made home made quiche and some lovely potatoe salad. We watched too much telly and Justin and I had a sly smoke and because it was both of us Mark didn't judge me as much as he would have at home.

It was a long journey back, quite a long walk to the station at that end (and we got slightly lost which meant my idea that we should aim for the second from last train was a worthy one) then a long walk from London Bridge to home. We didn't want to go straight to sleep and so watched a bit more Red Dwarf-the later series, not my favourites. I fell asleep during the second episode and Mark woke me to ask me if I was asleep.

Incompentence

I had the flat to myself last night, time to kick back and do what I want to do for a few hours. Bliss. I got home played my moves on wordscraper, smoked a joint out of the window instead of on the street downstairs watching the crack head that lives in the shop freezer opposite our front door and watching some scabby prostitute get driven in to the cul-de-sac provide her service than walk back out bandy behind the car that has just left her there. It was nice to get mellow without the (warranted) paranoia kicking in before hand. Now I feel yummy and dopey and ready to start preparation for the stew I will be teaching Mark to make tomorrow evening. So I choose a cd (Space age play boys), plug in the stereo-what is passing for a stereo as the one we were using broke a week or so ago. Put it in the unnecessarily complicated disk holder and look for the on button. Hmmmm, ok the play button might work. It makes the light on the display come on but only while I hold the button down. Git bugger, bugger git! It's a weird little contraption, sort of mini player and you can take a bit off to that it's a portable cd player. So I pull off the portable bit and look for an "on" button. Nothing doing. It has a battery slot, so I hunt around and find some double A batteries. It doesn't make a blind bit of difference; it still won't play. So I press every button on this thing, what more can I do? Absolutely nothing happens. I realise how reliant I am on Mark, I don't even know how to work anything that can make noise in this poxy pokey little flat. Grrr, I'm annoyed now.

I'm listening to music from my mobile phone in my kitchen whilst chopping up a swede-if that were capitalised it wouldn't be half bad, but it's only the vegetable, it used to be my favourite vegetable now I can't say it's name with out sneering it. I'm back here again.

The security guy called me angel again this morning. Funny how good "Good morning Angel" made me feel. I know you don't read this or even know it exists, but I want to say thank you for giving me back a smile. :)