Colour Me Happy

I AGREED to take a break from writing CV#589 to take a Colour Quiz my boyfriend Ben had found on the internet. The results were, well, not what really what I was after. Here are a couple of highlights:

"Joey Irving's Existing Situation:
Feels obstructed in her desires and prevented from obtaining the things she regards as essential.
Joey Irving's Stress Sources:
Disappointment and unfulfilled hopes have given rise to an anxious uncertainty, while doubts that things will be any better in the future lead to the postponement of essential decisions. This conflict between hope and necessity is creating considerable pressure. Instead of resolving this by facing up to making the essential decisions, she is likely to immerse herself in the pursuit of trivialities as an escape route.
Joey Irving's Restrained Characteristics:
Disappointment at the non-fulfillment of her hopes and the fear that to formulate fresh goals will only lead to further setbacks have resulted in considerable anxiety. She tries to escape from this by withdrawing and protecting herself with an attitude of cautious reserve. Moody and depressed."

Moody and depressed!! Hey, that's libel! If I wasn't unemployed I'd sue for defamation! (You see, how can I be down when I can put my vast media law knowledge into practice on a daily basis...exactly.)

And as for immersing myself in trivialities, I have a comprehensive 'To Do' list remember! OK, so stamps might not be a necessity as such, but there might be a postage emergency some time in the future and I'll be there at the ready.

Besides, the recession is merely a blip and employment is bound to pick up...in the next couple of years...when I'm 27...nearly 30...oh good God! Noooo...

Cheer yourselves up at...www.colorquiz.com

The Great 'To Do' List

I AM armed and ready with a Bic Biro and a brand new crumple-fabric covered, gold edged, purple diary. No, not a Bridget Jones moment, I have a few years to go before counting my units, nope, this is my attempt to reach new heights of organsiation. At least, that's the plan.

There's something so satisfying about striking each item off your list. It helps to make you feel productive, as opposed to desperate and unemployable, which can happen after too many days suddenly realising it's time for spanking the banker on Deal or No Deal. "It's 4.15pm already?!"

I also have a rather thrilling table to complete in preparation for the Jobcentre fortnightly visit, listing everywhere I've looked for a job and what I plan to do next. I've omitted "sob somewhat" as a possible forward step. I'm actually rather upbeat, but I'm assured that will happen eventually by one of my more negative friends. The same person put a rather thoughtful message in my 25th birthday card: "One step closer to retirement". Hmm, not at this rate.

Unfortunately writing a 'To Do' list, as it turns out, requires a level of delusion. I am incredibly eager to be kept uber busy, and as a result my list now includes various remedial things that probably don't need to be added, but spark a little pride in me all the same. "You see, busy busy", I tell myself, "not all job job job, I still have a life." Gulp.

It all started with Basil (he gets thirsty quickly in our little flat, so thought he should go on the list. ) Before I knew it I had added 'buy stamps'. Oh dear. I most definitely need a job!!

Scrapheap Challenge

Having finished my journalism course a couple of weeks ago, I’ve become a fully fledged member of the Unemployed Club. There was a time when it was a somewhat exclusive group, but these days they’ll let just about anybody in; teachers, skilled workers, even bankers are participating in the Scrapheap Challenge.

And so the great job hunt begins.

Coffee? Check. Laptop? Check. Terrible sense you must apply to everything, everywhere, working for pittance? Check.

“Do you have an overwhelming desire to tell the world of food packaging and other packaging related news?” Hell yes! That sounds like the job for me. Apply!

“Would you be willing to muck in and experience pig farming first-hand to generate national interests in piggeries?” Show me the overalls, show me the overalls! Apply!!

“Local village seeks help for monthly 1 page newsletter.” I once lived in a village! Apply, APPLY!!

Glass of water in place of two-handled ‘I’m the Daddy’ coffee mug? Check. Realisation that anxiety and caffeine do not go well together? Check.

Boomeranging

‘boomerang kid’ (also boomerang child) noun an adult child who returns home to live with his or her parents after being away for some time.

Wave goodbye to fun and frivolity, real life is rearing its ugly head.

University is over, the over-draft is full, friends are heading home and you have to do the same. Unfortunately this may also occur at a later date, just when you thought you’d made the break for good. I decided a month spent in the tranquillity of my parents’ dining room would be the perfect revision haven to turn me into a journalistic machine. This also, sadly, turned me into a ‘boomerang kid’.

This entails familiarising yourself with rules from your teenage years, although a few adjustments have been made. Feeling rusty? Let me ring a few bells for you.

1. Coming and going as you please is a no-no. All movements to and from the place of residence need to be relayed to a parent, as failure to do so may result in the front-door chain not being secured before bedtime and the porch light being left on unnecessarily.
2. Washing clothes may only occur on designated days not ear-marked for parents, namely Friday to Tuesday, as they do work don’t you know and only have time at the weekends (and the following days for drying. And flexibility.)
3. Eating will occur at set meal times, not late at night after forgetting to eat due to watching Heroes back-to-back.
4. Your consumption of milk and bread will be monitored, with any increase in loaves or pints being purchased being brought to your attention.
5. Mornings will be met with at least one sticky note instructions for the day. “Empty dishwasher”, “don’t forget recycling”, “clean bathroom”, “chop vegetables”…
6. Tabs will be kept on the tidiness of both bedroom and bathroom. Helpful reminders will be at regular intervals, preferably before your morning coffee or when you’re running late.
7. The remote control is out of bounds. Emmerdale will be followed by Coronation Street, followed by EastEnders, followed by ITV crime drama. Bed is at 10.00pm.
8. The heating is for emergencies only.
9. The cupboard space in your bedroom is designated for the A-Z of parents’ fashion faux pas, so prepare to smell like lavender and sandalwood from stuffing your clothes into a dresser.
10. Getting up later than 7.30am will result in a barrage of comments and anecdotes from when your parents were your age, worked from dawn till dusk, walked 10 miles in knee-deep snow and all for half a shilling.

There are a number of obvious perks, but at 25 you feel you should be living with peers, not parents. Your career might be precarious, marriage and kids at the peripherals of your mind and travel is sadly on a backburner, so a little independence goes a long way.

The Big Two-Five

I SPENT the day of the Big Two-Five taking exams at college

Despite no longer being the educational establishment for Brighton’s finest delinquents, my college still retains all its juvenile detention centre charm. With plastic bucket chairs bolted to the canteen tables, swarms of 16 year old trainee beauty therapists are forced to huddle around tables for 4, eyeing-up gangs of 16 year old decorators standing cross-armed and freshly paint-splattered by the vending machine tables, as my fellow postgraduate journalists and I try to squeeze in amongst them.

Flashback.

When I was 15, eating lunch with friends, chatting away, there would occasionally be the uncomfortable moment as we’d catch sight of a teacher gravitating towards our table. As the stool-legs scraped backwards, the red plastic tray met white plastic table, rotund bottom met with decidedly too small seat, all eyes met food and conversation ceased. The teacher briefly attempted to interact, but was inevitably left with one dining companion, their direct neighbour, as a Mexican-wave of teenagers abandoned the table in hot pursuit of the nearest exit. So there they were, squirming school girl and ‘hip wid da kids’ teacher, unsaved by the bell.

And here I was. Looking at two pairs of eyes dart from food to each other, speaking the unspoken language of ‘lets get the hell out of here’.

Am I really that old? Hey, I still get asked for ID!

But I’m really not that old. I’m 25 goddamit, yet I have somehow ended up worrying about life. I am in quarter-life crisis it would appear, and I’m not alone.

So how did I get into this predicament, and how am I going to get myself out? Good question.