My need to scribble down my thoughts comes and goes and as it happens, it sure well WENT for a while. But now, it’s back with a passion. I’m doing things, I’m going places, and rather than writing whimsically I’m writing because I have something to say.
2014 was an upheaval of a year, even if with hindsight I can recognise the stress as a cleansing kind of agony. I quit my job after being desperately unhappy for a good two years. I moved back the family homestead and there I stayed happily unemployed if grumpily poor for the best part of the year. I played carer and domestic assistant to an injured grandparent – giving me the quality time with a matriarch I’d not realised I’d desperately needed. I sold all my crap on eBay to pay the bills. I temped. I got sad when they couldn’t keep me on. I played housemaid, I rested, I took some joy in the simple pleasure of being able to walk the dog every morning. I paused.
The unrelenting search for a new job took its toll, but for the most part the horror of being on benefits was bearable compared to the misery of thoroughly hating my job.
Then Christmas came and went and I started 2015 with the realisation that this unemployment could drag on and I could be in serious trouble. And that’s when fate stopped pissing about and packed me off to an interview where I shone and six weeks later was rewarded with pay day, the likes of which I’d not seen for some time.
The new job has shocked my brain in to action, where it had laid dormant for some time. It’s come as quite a shock to realise just how incredibly stagnant I’d become, and how boredom and depression had rotted my (already lacklustre) confidence away to nothing. Finally being valued by an employer seemed to placate my pathetic self-esteem and it’s enabled me to start doing things I’d never thought I’d be capable of doing when I was in the absolute darkness. I’ll start talking about some of this later.
But for now, I’m happy and I’m happy about happy. It’s a novel experience and it’s time I wrote something about it.