I’m gearing up to recycle my own bullshit for the umpteenth time. What’s new, says you, the occasional reader of my posts that come in various shades of the same old shite. With two months in my current job remaining, I am back revising the CV and hovering over the two-hangered section of my wardrobe that is supposed to radiate confidence. Diligence. Conscientiousness. Success. All I’m getting is desperation, and someone dangerously close to one pair of trousers away from a M&S twin-set and a life-time allergy to heels.
That’s the problem with the bogus feeling of immortality in your twenties. Freedom is just another word for not conforming, until not conforming becomes an inescapable by-phrase for harbouring an overdraft, a love/hate relationship with your potential, and a willingness to at least Google ‘pension plans’. Usually from around the age of 36 onward. In my field anyway.
The nature of my work puts a stranglehold on any notions of security and direction. So, with any luck, I’ll be back before a panel of managerial all-sorts soon working that enthusiasm. Working it good. Working it so good that sometimes I don’t notice I’ve brought the wrong USB key and the panel is looking on non-plussed at my family photos as I gabble on at the speed of bluffing it (“We regret to inform you..). Or I go completely blank and just walk out (“Please accept this cheque as a token of thanks for attending and a contribution towards your travel expenses”). Or I turn up two hours late apologising profusely after the plane was unable to land due to fog and go off on one like Spud from Trainspotting (“We are pleased to inform you you have been successful”). One just never knows what will wing it.
“Well, I can parallel park and lip sync to ‘So Lonely’ by The Police with perfect precision”
The stakes are higher; the pool of potential competition wider; and my ability to suffer fools who claim not to suffer fools is waning rapidly.
The definition of defeat: When the idea of becoming a civil servant/teacher/nun doesn’t seem that bad an idea after all.
Of course I’m only half-joking.