…but a bitch ain’t one.

Hey internet! How ARE you?! Have you put on, like, stacks of weight? Oh, don’t be mad. It looks goo- Fine. Huff all you want.

A lot has occurred (if when you read “a lot” you understand that I mean “a series of smallish things that ad up to a reasonably boring sort of life filled with smallish things”) since the posting of the list and also the last decent post I wrote before my very minor laptop related breakdown.

The list posting was a momentous thing for me. I was taking a step towards control of my future, shaping it in the way I wanted it to be, the person I wanted to be. I would be self controlled, my time would be organised and portioned appropriately, I would be able to rationalise my perceived need for things like books and food and other easily purchased goods as momentary spells that I could walk away from into the dawn of a new Carlynne, who would also be fitter, kind of glowing from the inside and probably able to fly. Yeah.

The very first thing I did after I posted the birthday list was to purchase a book, stop walking daily, show no self control whatsoever about what I ate and spend all day every day either writing assignments or deliberately not writing them, all of which equals a big poo on numbers 2, 6, 9 and 10 and on the glowie me who is now limping along, muttering and stuffing her face manically. Great intentions, little shaky on the dismount.

I felt like shit, too. Which is fortunate, because it reminded me why it’s a terrible idea eating whatever I like all the time and not exercising. And going mental. So I stopped.

Also, the book I bought I have already read, so it doesn’t ad to the “need to read list” so I’m calling it a wash, deal? Deal.

Now, invisible reader, if you’ll cast your mind back, you’ll remember a particular piece of  drivel I spewed forth under the guise of whining about not getting a job then attempting to come to terms with it. This being the GOOD JOB that I’d heard about in legends and fairy stories, so that when I didn’t get it I threw a tanty and made a cave in which to dwell, clutching my misery forever to my chest like a balding stuffed rabbit with one eye (before I got over it).

So they rang me back about two months later and gave it to me.

I started the day after I handed my last assignment in and now spend a goodly portion of my week sort of running a drop in centre in Brunswick. I say sort of not as a light batting away of any kind of responsibility, a way of making sure you know, once again, how very average I am, but because it really doesn’t feel yet like I do anything besides hang out with these absolutely gorgeous people and make them coffee occasionally. Ok there was a bit of light batting there, I do more than that, but it really doesn’t feel like work a lot of the time.

The interesting thing about that (or one of many interesting things about that- I have an interesting job now, sorry, punch me if you see me in the street, I’ll be the one looking outrageously fulfilled) is its correspondence with the posting of the list and the implications therein. Allow me to expand..

A- Number 5 on the list is save money. I’m so extraordinarily shit with money it is actually something that scientists should study. It should be a meme. I’m the queen of “but clearly I need this muffin/dress/notebook/stuffed dinosaur and it’s only this once”. One of my spiritual gifts is the ability to justify the spending of any amount of money. It’s true. I think something that helps this is my consistent run of casual jobs that I either don’t get enough work at or just don’t bother going to. Now, I have responsibility which means I’ve got to go, and permanent hours which means budgeting will be a distinct possibility. Nothing saved yet, but I’ve got a good feeling about it.

B- Number 31 is “Figure out how to get around hating on church in general”. This was included because though I don’t go very often on account of I strongly dislike most churches and more importantly the services they run and often organised religion on the whole, I feel like there could be something good there, and sometimes I want to hang with peeps that celebrate the same stuff that I do, that hope for and in the same things*.  So I went and got employed by a church and paid to go to a service twice a month. So there. Forced attendance. Check and mate.

C- My job means I meet all sorts of people, a lot of whom have a lot to say, and all of whom have a place to say it if they want to in the form of my workplace. We provide a room and chairs and coffee and snacks and people can drop on in and chill out and be listened to. This is important and lovely and often difficult, particularly when you are as good at “ooh that reminds me of some shit that happened to ME this one time” as I am. Number 11? Talk less and listen more. Oh yeah. Heaven help me.

D- I think in general, having something regularish to do, while already nearly melting my brain (I am not used to being relied upon, I leave that for those who are helpful in some way. I take care of the pop song lyrics and humour as a defence mechanism side of things. Yep. Got that) will assist greatly in the coming to grips with the important parts of being a grown up. Having people depend on you is a deal. A big one. Also it should help with being kind.

E- The church is a fifteen minute ride from my house, which, while not walking, is … exercise! Yeah.

So though I failed at the list in a kind of epic and immediate way, I’m going to keep at it, because I think good stuff is happening and because, what else have I got to write about, huh? Yeah that’s what I thought.

Ps I ‘ve talked to two strangers thus far, not counting those who come to my work. The first was a spectacular success. Names and witticisms were exchanged, it was lovely. The second was a surly Irishman who didn’t seem to understand why a rando girl was chatting somewhat awkwardly to him on the train home from the U2 concert. She will persevere.

Pps I think that being tired and having your mind occupied with stuff helps with things like “what does every boy/man nearby think of me?” by rendering your brain too busy or fatigued to give a crap, which in turn should help with the “idiotic crushes” disease I’ve been afflicted with for many a year now. More on that later, feeling good about it.

Ppps: U2? Amazing!

Pppps: I did go out dancing once in Nov, which keeps me five by five on the “dancing once a month” front. Cool. Just making sure you know. That’s it now. Good night

*Just so I’m clear, why I would care about church is, that while I don’t believe a specific denomination or group is the right one, or that church attendance is necessary for an individuals journey, or walk or whatever religious speak you want to regurgitate, my life with the creator is something that matters to me, as I believe in Jesus is found the only truly revolutionary way of living and for me, it makes the most sense. I’ve heard church helps sometimes. That is all.

Things I’m average at no. 398: Not being a sook- an addendum.

So I got word earlier that I didn’t get this job that I really really really wanted. It was a Good Job. It was a Grown Up Job. I wanted this job a lot. When I didn’t get it, I cried and made for myself a small cave within my bedding and lay there and cried some more.

I was full of woe because this shit brings to mind many other things I’m average at like, having a real job, being employable, being an adult etc. And though usually I enjoy the charm of being completely average, embrace it and nuzzle its neck even, sometimes I want to just like, be good at something. I feel this is normal.

And so I got super excited about this job, and imagined myself doing it, and loving it and thought about changing my study to fit around it, and then they said they didn’t want me and the world once again looked at me and shook its head “no, you aren’t good enough”. Damn, man! That shit is cold!*

Any hoo, the part of the story I didn’t mention (along with any details at all) in my previous post was that I was offered a job the other day, just not this one. This was my bestest, I Can Do This Job job, shining like the light of the sun, and the other job says “hey!” and I was like “Oh…I guess..” *hair toss*.

So here’s me, in my bed, not doing assignments or like, washing myself, reminding myself of my shittiness while wailing into my pillow because one place found someone better qualified while another said they would love to have me. SOOK MUCH?


So I’m in the Cave of Sadness, and I look at my wall through the Slits of Misery (my eyes) and I see all the crap I’ve stuck up there. Crap that I dig, to remind me of things that are diggable. And I realise my life is pretty effing sweet. You can read about it here, on my other blog (ohmygoshpleasedon’ttellwordpresshe’llkillme) where I post photos of things I’m glad about.

I think it’s ok to feel sad, obviously. Sometimes I think it’s really helpful. Personally I love to crank the Damien Rice and bemoan my existence. I certainly don’t want to imply that I think it’s wrong to grieve or to mourn, even things like not getting the job you thought would be so right for you.

It’s just that I’m self aware enough to know that this job wasn’t just a job. It was me saying to me, “this is your chance to get something on your own, something hard and good and worthwhile”. And I was saying back to me “dude does that mean if I don’t get it..” and then I would reply “Yep. It means you’re shit. Officially.” And then I blew it, and that means every crappy thing I’ve ever thought about myself came true in that moment.

But the thing is, I know other stuff about me, and I know I got one job, and I know I have a wall full up of pictures of travel and friends and love and light so maybe just maybe I was wrong about me, maybe I should suck it the hell up and maybe it’s not worth staying in the cave tomorrow.


*Apologies. I watched some Dave Chappelle earlier, it gets under my skin man.