*warning: sentimental Lizzie alert

I have spent the ENTIRE day doing my GoThinkBig application (fingers crossed) and listening to music. As tiresome as applications are and as much as it sucked being trapped indoors on such a nice day – my God my room is so stuffy! – I am SO happy to have gotten back into my music bubble. Lately I just haven’t listened to any new music – I’ve been so distracted by life and work and life and other dilemmas that I haven’t listened to anything outside of my running playlist. I have listened to so much new music today and now have a mammoth list of stuff to add to my music catalogue – and it may sound weird or sad to you, but finding new music that resonates with me, that strikes a chord; that evokes emotions be they sad, angry or uplifting, that makes me want to dance or sing, or cry, well.. it just makes me so happy!

Even at my lowest points when I’ve felt completely alone, worthless or like I’ve got nothing going for me I’ve always had my music to comfort me.

I don’t need comforting right now but perhaps I did need a little lift. Something to remind me why I keep applying for all these work experience placements, why I keep soldiering on with the media related dreams – because music is my absolute passion. It takes me to places that my feet can’t. It fuels my imagination and I possibly love it more than Lionel my fluffy dog (don’t tell him that).

pooch

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student loans = moans

It’s that time again, rant o’clock.

Among the pile of letters and packages I returned home to after being away for 12 months in Australia was one from the Student Loans Company checking up on me because I’ve been unemployed (or so they believe) for the last year. Aside from various death threats and warnings about tax avoidance they included a statement of how much I owe. I thought it had to be wrong when I first looked at it – the amount of interest was so high – but after a quick look on the internet I discovered with horror that I am indeed being charged a whopping 1.5% APR; a LOT for someone who owes as much as I do. 1.5% doesn’t sound so bad, but every year I will be charged more and more interest as my debt builds, until I start earning just under 17,000 when I’ll start paying off enough to keep the debt the same, but no less because the interest will always offset any amount I pay off. This is happening to thousands of graduates all over the country and the government is making a mint out of it.

It sparked a major discussion in my household and instigated some less than benevolent feelings on my part.

I realise that politics is a cruel sport and the economy is in a mess and we need money coming in from somewhere – but from the poor and unemployed? Really? All the way through college young people are pressured into going to university because they are told, and I don’t mean given the impression, I mean explicitly told that it will better their life, career, future and well-being. You leave school at 16 and are expected to make all your future life choices after just one year and decide what you want to do, where you want to do it and who you want to be. For the majority this is impossible because we lack the knowledge and experience.. and maturity. So we make wild guesses, hope for the best and see where it leads. Currently it leads into mass unemployment or menial jobs and debt.

English Literature, that’s academic, that’ll benefit me in some way.

The way this country goes about educating young people on their futures is all wrong. Having a degree isn’t everything – I learnt that the hard way. You don’t need a degree to do every single job in the world. I can tell you that you don’t need a degree to go into television for example, or to go into radio. All you need is passion, drive and determination. I’m not saying I regret doing my degree or Masters because it helped shape who I am and although I jumped on the bandwagon like everyone else, at least I decided to study something that I enjoy and am reasonably good at. Hopefully it might even benefit me one day. But how many people did I meet on my English course who didn’t enjoy English? Who didn’t even like reading? And the university still let them in..? Far too many. At the time I thought these people must be pretty stupid, and as far as life choices go I suppose they were in that regard, but if they didn’t enjoy the subject why were they there? What possessed them to think it was a good idea? Well it’s obvious isn’t it. Because that’s what everyone else is doing and that’s what their lecturers and college or sixth form told them to do, so you better pick something, fast. You forget how much pressure is put on people at that age; how little time you have to make a decision. English Literature, that’s academic, that’ll benefit me in some way. In fact drop the ‘Literature’ just English will suffice. That word alone ticks some imaginary boxes somewhere.

One of my best, best friends at uni, bless her heart, shocked me in the second term of our third and last year when she told me she didn’t know how to use the self-scan machine in the library to take out books. I mean… just incredible. What can I say about that really?

What would I have done if university wasn’t the only option given to me though? What would I be doing now? No wonder the government is so supportive of higher education – because after all the jager bombs and lengthy library sessions are over they start making a shit ton of money out of you. You’re a major source of income. So is the insurance on your mortgage as my dad pointed out, but at least that’s a debt worth paying. That debt helps you buy a house. It’s not really the same as an A4 certificate with your name on it is it?

You owe us another 300 quid interest. Oh and make sure you buy a stamp for that envelope eh love?

To top it all off were the forms they sent me to fill out. The forms that, if they are neglected to be sent back within 28 days result in me being issued a penalty and included a self-addressed envelope which I have to go out and buy a bloody stamp for.

I don’t care how the system works, I am outraged. And to think, they don’t have to deal with any of this crap in Scotland, which leads nicely onto my next point;  just to add insult to injury guess where the Student Loans office is based? (check out the lovely letter head below.) Bet you just love that don’t you Scotland? Reminding us English folk how much we owe the government when you all pay diddly squat.

Not even back a fortnight in the UK and already I’m loving it.

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If you want to find out more information about your student loan check out the Income Contingent Loans page and if you’re feeling a bit rough about it perhaps take a little look at the url and smile at the accidental significance of one of the surprise words you’ll see in there. If anyone is going to pay off their children’s debts, it’ll be them!

Take care comrades, until the next rant o’clock..

the Eternal countdown

I hate to say it but I’ve begun to hate living in this country. Or maybe I just hate my life? (how dramatic) Sadly I think it’s more a case of the former. I say sadly because I’m really quite proud to be British. We’re good at so many things – we’ve great musicians, great sportsmen and sportswomen, great actors, artists, comedians; we’ve even started to win at tennis (yeah, you’re still British Murray).

But economically, Britain is just a shambles. I repeat, I hate ‘living’ in this country, because it’s the living part that’s the problem. I find that I’m getting more and more desperate to leave. I’m going travelling to Australia and already have my working visa. I have my sights set on leaving the beginning of April, but as time passes and the weeks roll by, rather than my departure date seemingly creep ever closer I feel as though I’m going to be stuck here forever and that it can’t come soon enough. I literally cannot wait to leave because the more time that passes in between now and my flight, the more depressed I become and the greater the chance there is for further disappointment

On the 1st of January 2013 I found out I no longer had any more hours at ASDA. This ballsed up all my plans because I was hoping to keep working to save a significant amount of money to go to Oz with. I’d planned to work over there from the beginning because I want to stay for at least 5-6 months, but I still needed enough for flights and accommodation and a bit to keep me going for a while. As soon as I found out I had no more work I started applying for other jobs immediately. I almost got a full-time job with a temp agency, but after not hearing back from them, I found out days later after chasing it up, that the department hadn’t wanted me because I needed 3 days holiday (for my driving test and a gig that I have booked).

The job, as well as any other job I’d get via the agency, is over an hour away in the nearest city and would have been exhausting and a pain in the ass to travel each day (as I have no car and can’t drive – obviously). However it was a full-time job, something which seems to be non-existent in Cornwall, and would have meant a significant sum of money at the end.

I’ve had no success with any of my other applications and was starting to wonder whether I should leave for Australia earlier – around the middle of March, after going to the gig I’ve booked and paid for. However I was torn over the prospect of getting some work over Easter at ASDA. If I was definitely going to be here til the middle of March, was it worth staying on another 4 weeks and getting some extra cash? This conundrum was made obsolete when I failed my driving test (for driving into a no entry road…) I’d have to stay ’til the end of March to retake it.

Then a second blow. After all that uncertainty over when to leave, my plans were blown to smithereens again after dropping in to do some shopping today. I bumped into my manager and asked about work; and despite being asked back last Easter and working 8 hour shifts every day, and the Easter before and every Easter I can remember, he said there would definitely be no work for me. They’re overspent enough as it is. This was a blow. After debating whether to stay in the UK for longer to get some extra cash, the decision was made for me; not only did I have to stay and fork out more money for a driving test, but without any future work in the pipeline.

This made me feel a bit crap, to say the least, but perhaps there was a silver lining??

Whilst chatting away to my dad downstairs earlier in the day, I’d got a missed call from the temp agency. Was there some more work available? I gave them a call back when I got home and was informed about a full-time customer services job in Plymouth, which would last about 8 weeks, starting this coming Monday. It entailed answering customer complaints via letter and email. It sounded boring and piss-easy, absolutely perfect. The job location was right next to the train station; I could get off the train, cross the road and I’d be in work; that would reduce my commute significantly. I was getting more and more hopeful as the conversation went on – until she asked me about holiday. I wanted 3 days off still, or at least one and a half.

By this time it was quarter to five. She said she’d have to ask about the holiday and get someone to ring me back. Of course no-one rang me back… as expected. I’ll ring first thing tomorrow but I can’t help but feel that I’m fighting a losing battle here. Am I going to have to resort to not going to the gig? To getting my friend to go with somebody else? It looks that way. Otherwise every job they put me forward for will be turned down because of 2 or 3 measly days off, and even then, I can’t cancel my driving test.

It’s bad enough that I failed my test. I feel shit enough as it is, but the fact it’s having an effect on my employability, my future plans… well. That just makes me feel like an even bigger failure. But what can I do? Turn back time and do what my instinct was telling me to do behind all the nerves and turn left? Stop worrying about running over pedestrians and look at the big signs above me? Unfortunately that’s impossible.

After the phone call with the temping agency, I’m left feeling so fed up I think.. I just want to just go now. I want to leave now, because the longer I’m stuck here, jobless and continually failing my driving test, the more miserable and bitter and hopeless I become.

I jumble through each day, I go on the directgov site and look at the lack of jobs, I endlessly tidy my tiny, little box room and I try not to think about things. I read. I read and read and read, but it’s getting harder and harder as the weeks go by. I can’t immerse myself in novels every minute of the day and it isn’t until I experience moments like this that I realise I’m extremely unhappy.

I rarely go out (because there is nowhere to go out here) and most of my friends never have any money. I rarely see more than one person at a time because everyone I know works different shifts and days every week. I can’t drive so I have no freedom (I wouldn’t have any money for petrol even if I could). I cocoon myself in my room and act like it’s normal.

I’ve become so isolated not working and spending all my time cooped up in my little room I worry that I’m likely to turn insane. The only thing that keeps me going and consoles me is knowing that at some point in the near future I’ll be on the other side of the world. I’ll be reading a Kindle rather than paperbacks and wearing hot pants instead of knitwear … who am I kidding I wear hot pants all year round.

I realise this blog is very depressing, overly dramatic, sentimental and possibly a touch narcissistic. I have no idea why I’m publishing it really. I’d forgive you for having read this and come to the conclusion that I’m a massive twat. The only thing I can think of is that I’d like to be able to look back at this in however many months time and go, wow, that time in my life really sucked. It really, really sucked ass, and then hopefully reflect on how much better things have become and how lucky I am. That’s assuming they become better. I’d like to think they can’t get much worse (excusing a brain haemorrhage, sudden death in the family or ingrown toenail.)

All that’s left to do is to keep job hunting, keep active, stay focused and try to have as much fun from now until the time I leave – even if that means cancelling the one thing I was really looking forward to, in order to get some work *makes loud grumbling noise*

The opportunities I’ve sacrificed in order to do this travelling thing… it’s starting to concern me. It’ll all be worth it in the end though right?

Right.

The super glue

The super glue had a temporary home, but a home indeed,
a place that was known.
It left the Tescos and was carried by bag, to my dear household
upon which my Dad,

deposited it thus into a ceramic bowl, and there it was left
in a place that was known.

lighter

The super glue’s habitat was conspicuous, visible; it’s constant presence
remained to be physical.
It lay in its dish, separated, alone, but for some spare change
in a place that was known.

On the coffee table, before the TV, each time I walked by the tube I would see.
Contemplation of moving it was often aroused,
but why move an object so conveniently housed?

No doubt, once in a ‘safer’ place,
that glue would become completely erased;
sucked up by the house monster – that sadistic machine –
always looking to cause havoc, never to clean.

The super glue’s purpose was always intended –
a selection of jewellery needing to be mended.
But busy with shifts that went on and on,
the super glue was left in the place that was known.

So poised was that glue in his ceramic seat,
his resistance to removal was a remarkable feat.
For days he had sat, untouched and unharmed,
not just by the house sucker, but those infallible palms..

lighter2
those hands with the effectiveness of a moving lorry,
the shoe shifter, object lifter in a domestic quarry.
The female magician with cumbersome powers,
capable of instigating hunts that last hours..

A task maker who frequently takes and replaces,
whilst each time leaving absolutely no traces.

SHE STRIKES!

No chance for intervention, the super glue’s gone,
without even a mention.
A search is futile; it’s existence no more.
For though still tangible, it will forever be sought…

To no prevail.

Once taken away, the Mother’s hands will lead it astray.
A fit-to-burst drawer, a lonely crevice, a random box;
who could guess the premises?

Once out of sight, it becomes the prey of the house monster –
its fate sealed away.

The horror to see that dish lay bare without the solvent residing there.
It’s purpose defunct, it’s location unknown.
For hands that re-house don’t take addresses down.

Lost and untraceable we find that once more
duplicate purchases are required to restore
voices to normal decibels.
As normal as can be in a high-pitched household..

By God is this routine getting old.

So naive to think I’d complete my task, without a hitch
What an ass.
As swift as a dove, as quick as a flash my belongings are gone
and will never come back.

My super glue had a temporary home, but a home it was,
a place that was known.
But temporary homes are never safe, nor any square inch of my house in this case..

Have a break, have a crème brûlée latté

Today I had a breakdown.

When I rang home only an hour and a half after having started work saying exactly these words, my parents naturally assumed the worst. Dad asked if I’d hit a customer in the face with a frying pan; at least he was joking. Mum genuinely thought I’d verbally/physically abused someone because ‘when people say breakdown that’s normally what they mean.’ Er.. is it? I know she has an active imagination (and sometimes I can be a bit fiery) but come on? I am never anything but super sweet and helpful to customers. I reserve the nastiness for the family…

In actual fact what happened was I walked over to my department, gave my colleague a hug and then suffered a prolonged water leakage from my eyes. Normally if you’re a bit worked up/emotional before work, you find that once you get in there you’re fine. The times that you’re sure you’re going to be miserable and sad all day are the times you go in and realise you were being a bit melodramatic. It’s when you choose to try to ignore the way you feel and keep convincing yourself that you’re OK; that really you’re quite fine, that you’re actually incredibly stressed and don’t realise it.

Those are the times you only have to hug someone and it all goes to pot.

Normally the last thing I think about before I go to bed is what I need to do tomorrow, what I haven’t done that day and clothes. Yes, clothes. Outfits/outfit ideas/clothes I want. But last night I spent ages tossing and turning trying to get to sleep fretting about my driving test and the amount of hours I’m doing at work.

  • Don’t forget not to miss the slip roads on certain roundabouts – they don’t count as exits.
  • Don’t forget to indicate right and stay in the right hand lane if you’re going straight ahead at a large roundabout.
  • Check your right-hand mirror when you’re changing lanes in a roundabout.
  • Don’t slow down too quickly on a dual carriageway when taking the next exit.
  • Indicate if you’re pulling in/out and there’s a car behind you.
  • Remind instructor to go through questions they might ask you, to open up the bonnet, to go through headlight settings.
  • Check your mirrors. Check your mirrors. Check your mirrors.
  • Lesson Tuesday – 8:30-10:30, work 4-10 changed to 2-8
  • Lesson the next morning 10-12, work 12-8, changed to 12-6
  • Work tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday off, work Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday test…

I couldn’t sleep with all of that going on in my brain. I’ve been completely panicking about every thing (though this is standard for me), and although it seems silly – it’s just a driving test right? – passing means a lot more to me than that. Being able to drive won’t just mean being able to go into town to pick up that coffee machine I want, or popping down to Tesco because I fancy some Nobby’s Nuts. It’ll mean being able to get out of Asda, being able to apply for other jobs, trying to get some freelance work with radio stations. It’ll mean partial independence.

I live with somebody who is constantly nagging at me to get in touch with people, to email this place, to call this other place, to work for five places at a time (she goes by the name of ‘mother’). I’m constantly in the mindset of ‘I need to do this’ then ‘this’, then ‘something else’, and after that I’ll start on the next list. There’s so much pressure. I keep having to repeat the same words, that I can’t really do much until I can drive and have a car. It’s been my main goal/priority since I finished uni.

And so, unwittingly, I feel as though I have a lot riding on this test. My sanity perhaps?

On top of this, it’s Christmas. Work is usually stressful, hectic and busy. My job is physically and emotionally draining and I always work unsociable hours. This results in me rarely ever seeing anyone outside of my family, which means having a lot of time to myself, which means lots of time to think, therefore fret/worry about anything and everything. I’m lacking in stress relief.

Then there’s other personal things happening in my life at the moment, which I’ve been coping with, but is shit all the same. Even more shit when you realise it’s turning out to be one of those situations where, when you’re as busy and distracted as I am, you don’t realise it’s bothering you because you don’t have the time to think about it. Instead everything builds up, you have a melt down and then have to face up to things. I’m terrible for blocking things out and not dealing with them as it is – being busy only makes it easier.

It can only take a few drinks for it to all come crashing down.

So… I’m a bit stressed out. But I’m feeling OK. I cried, spoke to my section leader at work, chatted about things and relaxed a little, he sent me home and I endured my mum’s declaration that she assumed I’d been sent home for swearing at someone. Then I made a crème brûlée latté and wrote it all down.

Sometimes life just throws these challenges at you and you have to take a minute and relax. Or, if you’re clever like me, cry in public and work a 3 hour shift instead of 8 hour one.

😉

The Channel4 come down..

Good evening folks.

It’s time for another blog. Writing is just so therapeutic you know? At least it is for me; it’s right up there with baking and mopping floors.

I’m back from my Channel 4 placement which was very, very insightful – it made me realise that I really don’t want to go into TV! Everyone there was great though, it was like a giant family and I felt incredibly welcomed. It was such a chilled out atmosphere as well; when someone tells you that they’re a ‘pop bitch’ you know you’re in a special place!

Having been given an introduction/briefing on pretty much every department the online team appealed to me the most. They choose what photographs go up on site, they write features, music news, go out and do interviews, update Facebook, Tumbler, Twitter, 4music’s YouTube channel. Collectively, they control all the content on the 4music site, and there’s only four of them. What I liked most was the amount of creative license their jobs allow, particularly since they launched the 4music YouTube channel.

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What was really great about the work experience too was finding out how everyone had got their jobs at Box TV – nearly everyone had a different story. What put me off TV production actually had a lot to do with that. Having a Masters in Broadcast Journalism means nothing if you want to get into production, at least not in London or at Channel 4… it’s all about working your way up. One of the first things one of the guest speakers at the 4Talent Day said to us was – we don’t care about qualifications, we look for people who are creative, hard-working and have the ability to get along well with others. A couple of people I spoke to at Box started out as runners, on minimum wage, barely able to live. They did that for a couple of years which led to freelance work and then the jobs they have now. I didn’t spend 10 grand on a Masters to earn pittance working 12 hours a day, being somebody’s slave for 2 years in the hope that something better might come along.

You need no qualifications to be a runner or to work in TV Production – it’s not journalism – which makes me glad that that’s not what I want to do, otherwise I’d have wasted a hell of a lot of my time and money.

Although my placement was through Channel 4, Box TV actually makes 7 music channels, including Magic, Heat, Kerrang and Kiss and I did a couple of jobs for Heat TV while I was there which was interesting! It was actually harder than it sounded – coming up with funny comments to go along with music videos, as Heat TV is very text heavy. Nicki Minaj was a piece of pie (it’s Nicki Minaj …) but a couple of the other, more generic shall we say, music videos were more difficult. Carly Rae Jepson’s new vid is so droll.

On the second day I went and acted as a production assistant for the day on a shoot with JLS. It sounds exciting and glamorous, but unsurprisingly being on a shoot is the complete opposite. Luckily the studio we were in was the smaller one, so it was fairly warm, but I was told normally it’s freezing. Being a prod assistant you basically help put equipment together, keep the place tidy (that means being on bin bag duty), cable bashing*, and going out and getting everyone coffees. If you’re lucky like me, you also get a hug off of one of JLS – oh the highlight of my week! (he actually smelt very good, not that he wouldn’t, but I love a bit of man fragrance)

*cable bashing: hold the cables coming out of the camera so that the director/camera operator doesn’t trip over them when he’s moving the camera back and forth across the tracks.

To be fair it’s pretty cool, it’s gets you out of the office for a day and you get to see what celebs are really like (Aston really is that small), plus the catering was amazing. On my last day I went prop shopping, also the job of a production assistant, which involved wandering around soho looking for a Christmas tree, cup and saucer, geek glasses and a cigar. Had I not been ill this would have been a fun job – exploring London ‘n’ all – but I struggled to really enjoy it. Having coughing fits in public, trying not to bash fast-moving Londoners with a Christmas tree whilst simultaneously fishing Strepsils out of your bag isn’t one of my favourite things to do. By this point I’d had a continuous headache for 9 days running, which no amount of pain killers could eliminate. God knows how I survived that week – actually I do know, a shit load of lemsip, paracetamol, cough medicine, cough sweets, fruit juice and Berocca. I’m paying for it now.. I’ve spent the last 2 and a half days in bed.

Only I could get the flu a few days before my placement…

Enough wallowing though. It was all made better by the fact that I had Martha. Martha Nansera looked after me that week; she effectively could have been my mum. Unlike my BBC placement where I was left alone and forgotten a lot of the time without any structure to my days (shame the editor left a couple of weeks before my placement – Lozza luck strikes again) Martha always made sure I had something to do and was always checking up on me to see I was OK. I never felt lost amongst the office, I always felt like I had a presence, that was one of the nicest things about being there. I’d be very happy if I end up in an office like Box TV in London.

But now I’m back in St Austell. And what can I say – I hate it.

Despite seemingly making my mind up about going travelling, the fact that I feel as though I’ve done this all backwards (deciding to do a Masters and then go travelling) is very frustrating. I make contacts through work experience but don’t feel as though I can follow them through because for the next few months I’m planning to save and then piss off to Australia.

I’m constantly doubting my choices, which isn’t helped by having a mother who says every other day ‘there’s a job going for a BJ 2 days a week at BBC *insert faraway place*’ knowing that I can’t do that and live at home, which would mean I’d have to move there, which would mean getting a second job while I was there, which would mean never having any money, which would mean not going travelling. Then Dad saying to me ‘forget the travelling’ despite the fact that he’s been completely behind the idea up until now, and then saying ‘well if this job is what you really want to do’ – when did I ever say that?

No-one listens to me… I’M GOING TRAVELLING. At this moment in time that’s what I REALLY WANT TO DO.

*sigh* it makes me want to shoot myself in the face, for about half an hour, until I write my problems down and gradually the anger, frustration and tension lessens.

I can’t help but acknowledge the fact that if I didn’t want to travel my life would be a lot simpler. But then if you could get a job by just applying for one rather than having to do loads of work experience, building up contacts and working random freelance shifts for however many months first; my life would be a lot simpler.

It would be as simple as going away, then applying for jobs when I get back.

But getting a job these days just isn’t that simple, unless you’re like a dear friend of mine and have the willpower, dedication, tenacity, brains and stamina of Superman. Superman was even a journalist.. ha. I like that.

Unfortunately I don’t have all of those things. I have an inferiority complex. And so I’m right back where I started…

Or am I? Not sure why I’m ending on a cryptic note, but that’s what’s happened. Perhaps because it fulfills the ‘be optimistic’ promise I made to myself. Either that or I’ve temporarily adopted the writing style of a novelist.

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the last post I submitted was titled ‘cough cough’ ; oh the irony

I’m blogging which means I’m either rambling about music or I have something to moan about. Yay.

I have an almost instinctive urge to write when I feel strongly about something or when life is taking a detour down the road to Crapsville rather than to the Town of Raining Marshmallows. Flick through my diary; it’s all neurotic wallowing, you’ll scarcely find anything positive in there. When you’re happy you’re living in the moment; depressed, you’re re-living the moment. Hey, it worked for Adele. Though I don’t think my diary/blog is quite on par with the Grammy award winner..

This week’s been really shit. It seems that God, should he exist, is relentlessly determined to test me by ruining every work experience placement I get. Last time it was fleas, this time I’ve managed to get really sick a week before my placement; it’s already Thursday and I feel absolutely dreadful. Monday night I got no sleep, Tuesday morning I was sick three times, I ate nothing until Wednesday evening and last night also barely slept which was torturous. Today I’ve eaten one crumpet.

Other negatives: I missed work Tuesday, will also be missing work tomorrow and probably Saturday too. That’s 22 hours wages lost, not to mention the fact I won’t be earning a penny next week as I will be on my placement.

At the moment I’m praying the hostel dorm I’m staying in isn’t full of drug addicts or people with a penchant for one-night stands, either that or that they don’t attack me with the minimal furnishings in the room because my hacking cough is keeping them up all night.

On top of that I booked my train tickets and there were no seats available on Sunday during the journey from St Austell to London (damn Cornwall and it’s appeal to city dwellers). The last time I got an afternoon train on a Sunday to Plymouth there were people standing in the aisles.

In my state, if I have to stand I might punch somebody.

So it’s all bloody doom and gloom. Most of all I’m just worried I’m not going to be on top form during my placement because I’m not well.

You try to tell yourself it will be all right but I was born a pessimist and a compulsive worrier. And this is my problem.

I am so negative. I joke about things, I wear a smile on my face to work. To most I am a bubbly, slightly odd person (don’t know where I get that title) but for those unfortunate enough to see my insecure side, when I’m not happy I am horribly depressing.

I focus on other people to distract myself from my own life and the things that I don’t like about it, but it’s a temporary fix. It’s ridiculous. I don’t know why I do it, it’s like I’m bent on making my life harder for myself.

Today I had a revelation (well.. perhaps that’s going a bit far), today I had a think, a lovely little think and I decided that my attitude is crap and that I’m a coward. And that no matter how much it kills me I am going to be more positive.

How hard can it be?

I’m going to start with my Channel 4 work experience which is going to be great! And everyone is going to love me!

Confidence and arrogance; fine line?

But seriously, sometimes things happen that force you to take a look at yourself and realise that you’re fuelling all your energies into the wrong things. I fuel all my energy into telling myself I suck. Where is that going to get me? There’s simply a consensus in our house that everything is too difficult and that anything remotely challenging is not worth doing because you’ve not got a chance in hell. Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to prove everybody wrong. And so far I’m going the completely wrong way about it.

It’s time to get the big guns out and start believing in myself and putting less pressure on myself.

And it’s time to stop posting blogs before I’ve finished them. Honestly OK, I’m done now.