Good afternoon.
This morning was similar to most mornings I've had this week. I felt depressed, regressed into some less mature state where I imagien Mia as a girl influencing my behaviour; and I was remembering past memories of female intimacy. Somehow that works to get me out of bed, I thought about how much weight I lost yesterday, and the prospect of checking my weight loss today. As it happens, I gained 1lb between yesterday and today, but I think that is mostly vegetable fecal matter inside my body, I still have 4-5 days to get down to 226lbs as my target. I decided to try for another jog in the morning. As per yesterday, I started with a warmup to the green, gym, and I managed about 20-25 mins of heavy duty calisthenics, most of it comprised of situps and half pullups, it really took the sail out of my lungs, but I took time to recover my lungs and then return to the routine. I started off doing 10 rep sets, then I kept going until I could barely manage 3 rep sets. I was exhausting myself, but moreover, I was trying to tear the shit up of the microfibres of muscle so that they would build up to be even better.
I got home, luckily at a nice average speed of 5.3 mph, and then I had some breakfast. My breakfast comprised of a bowl of porridge (sic) and I made some powdered mashed potato in a bowl. I thought that I'd indulge myself. I was then watching a Stallone movie that I recorded on the Sky+ ages ago, as one does when enjoying the lack of parental presence in the morning (dad was still asleep, and mum is out in a class). I went to put some things away in the recyling box outside and then determined that there was some mail. In particular, there was a big mail packet for me. I suspected that I knew what this was, since it had the crest of the company that interviewed me last week *giddy*.
Sit down, open the letter.
Well, I thought to myself. Isn't that great!! The best news in two years. However, to put it into context, I think it's important to put this into greater context. My dad was in the room as I got this letter, and he read it and didn't seem too pleased about it. Here's why...
This really denotes the kind of graduate predicament people of my generation live in. While, being philosophical and ever the optimist, there are some positives:
But then there are some not-so great-atives (newword?):
This is not an ideal situation, but its a step up from my status quo. At least now I have something to say when someone asks me a question of : so what do you do?
I had a nightmare last night. I was talking to the head of department of the university where I did my Masters, and the HoD says to me 'you understand that you have 20 weeks to hand in all this coursework dont you?' and I said yes, and he says 'Don't let me down, I have faith in you'. That dream speaks for itself. Relating to the post I put up yesterday: underachiever? I think emphatically, that I have underachieved in my life. I thought that I had so much potential, and the best news I have so far in my adult life is a job ushering people where it's not 'technically' a job.
Since getting the letter, I've been in a bit of a stupour emotionally. I've felt so many things that I cannot get all my thoughts and feelings in order. So, now I will attempt to sort out what I need to do.
1. Contact job centre (signging in on monday)
2. Fulfill conditions of job offer: police disclosure certificate, clarify if I have various immunisations (wtf?)
3. Fill out forms, for bank payment, medical checkup, etc.
4. Scheduled applications and tasks set for the rest of my day (don't forget your schedule, foo)
Oh another thing, it asks if I have anxiety issues, or an eating disorder. I'm going to lie.
Pat on the back. Congratulations, me, you have a job, ish.
This morning was similar to most mornings I've had this week. I felt depressed, regressed into some less mature state where I imagien Mia as a girl influencing my behaviour; and I was remembering past memories of female intimacy. Somehow that works to get me out of bed, I thought about how much weight I lost yesterday, and the prospect of checking my weight loss today. As it happens, I gained 1lb between yesterday and today, but I think that is mostly vegetable fecal matter inside my body, I still have 4-5 days to get down to 226lbs as my target. I decided to try for another jog in the morning. As per yesterday, I started with a warmup to the green, gym, and I managed about 20-25 mins of heavy duty calisthenics, most of it comprised of situps and half pullups, it really took the sail out of my lungs, but I took time to recover my lungs and then return to the routine. I started off doing 10 rep sets, then I kept going until I could barely manage 3 rep sets. I was exhausting myself, but moreover, I was trying to tear the shit up of the microfibres of muscle so that they would build up to be even better.
I got home, luckily at a nice average speed of 5.3 mph, and then I had some breakfast. My breakfast comprised of a bowl of porridge (sic) and I made some powdered mashed potato in a bowl. I thought that I'd indulge myself. I was then watching a Stallone movie that I recorded on the Sky+ ages ago, as one does when enjoying the lack of parental presence in the morning (dad was still asleep, and mum is out in a class). I went to put some things away in the recyling box outside and then determined that there was some mail. In particular, there was a big mail packet for me. I suspected that I knew what this was, since it had the crest of the company that interviewed me last week *giddy*.
Sit down, open the letter.
Dear Mr. Conatus
[...]
I am pleased to confirm that your name will be added to our list of people available for casual work as Events Assistant [...] on an ad hoc basis as and when required.
Well, I thought to myself. Isn't that great!! The best news in two years. However, to put it into context, I think it's important to put this into greater context. My dad was in the room as I got this letter, and he read it and didn't seem too pleased about it. Here's why...
[...] Please note that this is not a contract of employment. [...]
This really denotes the kind of graduate predicament people of my generation live in. While, being philosophical and ever the optimist, there are some positives:
[...] The hourly rate of pay is £7.00 [...] A minimum of 4 hours [£21, woo!] will be paid at any one time [...] [t]ravel expenses are covered, on production of a receipt, if you are required to work after 11pm.
But then there are some not-so great-atives (newword?):
[...]Tax and National Insurance will be deducted at the appropriate rate. [...] The Corporation reserves the right to remove your name from the list of those available for duties as it sees fit. [...] understand [that you are] a casual worker and NOT [emphasis theirs] an employee of [the corporation].
This is not an ideal situation, but its a step up from my status quo. At least now I have something to say when someone asks me a question of : so what do you do?
I had a nightmare last night. I was talking to the head of department of the university where I did my Masters, and the HoD says to me 'you understand that you have 20 weeks to hand in all this coursework dont you?' and I said yes, and he says 'Don't let me down, I have faith in you'. That dream speaks for itself. Relating to the post I put up yesterday: underachiever? I think emphatically, that I have underachieved in my life. I thought that I had so much potential, and the best news I have so far in my adult life is a job ushering people where it's not 'technically' a job.
Since getting the letter, I've been in a bit of a stupour emotionally. I've felt so many things that I cannot get all my thoughts and feelings in order. So, now I will attempt to sort out what I need to do.
1. Contact job centre (signging in on monday)
2. Fulfill conditions of job offer: police disclosure certificate, clarify if I have various immunisations (wtf?)
3. Fill out forms, for bank payment, medical checkup, etc.
4. Scheduled applications and tasks set for the rest of my day (don't forget your schedule, foo)
Oh another thing, it asks if I have anxiety issues, or an eating disorder. I'm going to lie.
Pat on the back. Congratulations, me, you have a job, ish.
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