The weekend was fun and messy.
I have to get some structure back into my llife because it’s flying past, only ever punctured by the three day weekend.
Unemployment doesn’t suit me. I came home warily, moved back into my old room and stared at the window I stared at for 9 years, feeling like a teenaged hermit crab who crawled home no richer but wearing a slightly more dented coke can.
The room has been repainted, recarpeted, and filled with my mum’s work stuff. But over the windowsill there’s a shelf with assorted toys and objects I collected. A broken magnifying glass, a ceramic moose piggybank, a bicycle made from wire by one of my dad’s friends from the market stall days. A purple wooden cat that sits on a wooden bench and used to hold a fishing rod. The tiniest sample of all the crap I collected over a childhood.
And then all over the floor, my current collection of stuff. It’s not entirely my fault, I have no where to put my clothes really. A few shelves that are the wrong depth and shape for anything to stay neatly folded. Or maybe it would be if I folded things and didn’t just stuff them into crevices. So it is mostly my fault, because I’m just using this place as a crash site and recovery tank.
I’m not a sentimental person usually, I don’t pick up little bits and pieces of things and get transported back in their timeline. But this room, different as it is from when I was a teenager, the bed the wrong way around, my feet towards the window and not the door… this room is smothered in memories. Nothing ever actually happened in this room. I never did anything here but play lego alone or computer games alone or sometimes smoke joints with my friends and watch episodes of the simpsons and try to make Beatles songs be about drugs.
So nothing really happened in this room, but the memories are there nonetheless. The way I felt, how miserable I was with my life and myself… There are millions of memories of the person I am and how at odds I felt with my inner and outer lives. I came here and lay back and thought about things and worried and cried and couldn’t sleep with excitement or couldn’t sleep with hung over shame and regret.
This room reminds me of how little has changed in me since I was 14 and didn’t have a clue about anything. I haven’t really developed, jesus how did I make it so long without growing up? I have lots of experiences, sure, I know a lot more about things… I have a thicker skin, thank fuck. I no longer feel out of sync with myself.
I let myself do the things I like to do, and don’t beat myself up about it afterwards. Although I’m not sure if that’s emotional maturity or just that I’ve desensitised myself to shame after so many years breaking my self imposed moral code.
I worry, just a little bit, that I might be screwing myself out of a future with someone nice and decent and stable…
I’m making myself too sexually experienced, for one thing. That’s the main thing actually. I’m worried I won’t meet someone who can be ok with that, and I mean, I’m just about to turn 26.. if I’m still single in 5 years, just imagine what I’ll have done in those 5 years.
And I don’t want to have to lie. I’m worried sometimes, that the more I go in this direction, the more ok I am with the way I am, the more I embrace sex as completely natural and the more different people I embrace it with, the further I go down a very very specialist path that maybe doesn’t have that many kindred spirits down the end.
It should be a good thing, shouldn’t it, to be happy with who you are and at peace with what you did last night, but I am a little scared of what that acceptance will lead me to over the years.
Is a bit of self reproach necessary to keep your feet on the ground? My last boyfriend, the Frenchman, accused me at one point of being too hedonistic. He went about his life with a picture frame making memories just so, just right, to fit with his aesthetic vision. And I just thought everything was ridiculous and nodded and made the right clever sounding noises so that he’d keep fucking me like that, but sooner or later he had realise I’m only skin deep, and underneath I’m just a bundle of organs and flesh and and the only way he ever penetrated beneath the surface was when he literally penetrated me with his fleshy organ. Because I find that kind of thing amusing.
And anyway, none of it really matters. It’s just life, we all just talk about things that matter to us and none if it makes any difference to anything. So I should be really happy to be fine with all of the chaos because there’s no way I’ll ever see it another way. Maybe my attitude is right, maybe there’s a purity and truth to the squalor. But it doesn’t matter if you’re right or wrong, because other people will take it how they want and I guess they’re all right too. And I’m feeling a little distance grow between myself and other people.
I need a fucking job.
I am for the first time in my life, really enjoying being single. I’m loving it. I’ve never looked better, I’m just not in a great place with my life, I don’t have a job and I live with my parents. And I’ve been unemployed for a few months now, so I’m getting more and more comfortable doing nothing.
And at weekends I find myself letting it all go…..
And the weekdays are recovery from the weekends, and the weekends a break from the tedium of recovery. And so on.
I spent most of the day looking for jobs and looking for somewhere to live. I don’t particularly want to work in some crummy office again but it looks like I’d be lucky to get a cummy job in an office as there seems to be some kind of recession going on in this country. I’ve started reading the news a little lately and apparently, the world isn’t doing so well.
Anyway, I was trying to improve my cv a little and because I can’t do things for too long without getting bored and going off on a pointless tangent, I had a sudden WHOOSH of inspiration. Not useful inspiration. I just thought, hey my cv is pretty crap, but it’s still a million times better than the reality of what I’ve done with my life.
So I rewrote my cv in an honest version, which I will supply below. Before you think, that’s gotta backfire, I have renamed this version DONTFUCKINGSENDITSAFAKECV.doc
So don’t worry about that.
If I was more honest on my cv….
I shouldn’t have done this because now I just feeling really really shit about myself and how am I going to get a job with this attitude? What a stupid idea. I should write a good cv now to make myself feel better except I can’t because I’m living in my childhood bedroom and it’s FILTHY and I haven’t showered in days and my mum is in the next room and I just got given out shit to for drinking whiskey in my room by myself and I said “I didn’t, it must have been all of us the other night” but my stepdad doesn’t believe that for a second and neither should he because I made myself three hot whiskeys last night when they went to bed and then I ate a half a block of cheddar which I was at least truthful about when questioned.
I’m a goddamn mess.
Anyway here’s my stupid honest cv I wrote while I was supposed to be actually writing a cv that would help me get a job.
Abi N Flicker
Education / Achievements
English Teaching Qualification
Decided to move to France to teach english as teachers have great working hours and holidays, and was really attracted to French men at the time.
2008 : Was one of the top CSRs of the quarter in my office. Did I mention there were 50 top CSRs in every quarter and it was pretty much a turn-based award ?
2006: Classical Civilisation. Picked this course based on playing age of empires. Dropped out in the second semester when I realised that age of empires gave me no advantage.
2005: Leaving Certificate.
Took 6 subjects, the legal minimum, three of which were languages I learnt at home, one (art) which was literally the easiest subject available, and the other, maths, I spent 5 years in school studying at higher level only to sit the easier ordinary exams because I didn’t want to have to study.
Barmaid and waitress in a bar in France. I got this job while extremely drunk in the bar. The owner’s pervy friend told me I had a great ass, and I said I was looking for a job.
Telemarketer. Honestly the worst thing I’ve ever done. The worst. I hated this job so much, I took about three weeks of sick days in 6 months. I called in sick Thursday, Friday and Monday one week because Ireland had a surprising bout of warm weather.
2008 – 2012
Retail. Basically where I started blogging while ignoring customers. I got this job because my dad gave it to me. I made quite a lot of money in this job and blew it all.
Customer service representative. I answered phones. After six months of this I applied for a promotion, which I got despite talking about gypsies in the interview. In the new position I listened to calls, which took about one work day every two weeks, then I gave feedback to the csrs where I told them things like « stop hanging up on customers and you’ll get your bonus next month » The rest of the fortnight was spent looking busy so that I wouldn’t have to go back on the phones in my spare time.
July 2006 – December 2006
Sales assistant. Worked for my dad because I had run out of money and was taking way too many drugs back in Ireland. Working at this time was like a little stint in rehab.
Other:Excellent computer skills, particularly age of empires but I’m also adept at anything computer related where the end result is to get something free.
Great interpersonal skills, which I think I have MDMA to thank for. I’m outgoing because I’ve figured out that if I’m going to go out and do stupid irresponsible things every weekend and get THAT drunk, I’m going to have to stop beating myself up about it and just accept it.
I’m adaptable and quick to pick up new skills (I’m lazy and will do whatever job I can get without having to try very hard)
Interests: Film (drinking in cinemas), literature (reading and drinking), cooking (and drinking), keeping fit (lots of casual sex), wine tasting (wine drinking) and writing (writing and drinking).