Monday, 12 March 2012


If I were to write a novel, it'd be abut my Mother. I'd call it Guilt.

If she's happy for more than 8 minutes, guilt.
If she spends over £10 on an item of clothing, guilt.
When she goes out & doesn't tell her sisters, guilt.

I blame the notion of Catholic Guilt. & it's been passed onto me. Difference being, she's 49 and I'm 23, my youth should be able to combat the evitable. It's a work in progress.

Urban Dictionary defines Catholic Guilt as: (click)

I recently moved home. Returning from London. It hasn't been a culture shock, in fact it's really taken a (recondite) weight off my shoulders, but ironically put tangible weight on me. This might be a new beginning for me, a return to that care-free 20 year old who hemorrhaged confidence.

Strange how in three years your life radically sidesteps, like Tetris.

I spent last week throwing myself into cleansing my possessions. Unearthing objects that emotionally impacted, from a letter I wrote (aged 14) to my violent Father, to a story book my brother &I made one Summer. It was cathartic.

Now I must look for a job and really decide what is it I want to do.

I thought it was PR. I was under the impression that if I worked hard enough unpaid, came in early and stayed late, then the laws of Karma would guide me towards a f/t paid role that saw me indulge in what I like to do best; communicate. Alas, the levels of responsibilities I was bestowed with varied greatly.
Remember when you used to go to swimming lessons? Imagine being a strong swimmer in the shallow end one week and a non-swimmer in the deep end the next. I didn't want repetition, just the opportunity to enhance my skills, develop them and be the best PR I could me.

I was a natural, had no problems getting interviews for big companies. The stick in the mud? Unknown, I've never had constructive criticism to pinpoint where I could have improved. Perhaps its the old elitist mentality, simply because I couldn't do a year within an unpaid role full time and meet some rather air-headed/influential people to play air kisses with I wasn't deserving of the role.

I'm knocking it on the head for a while. It was soul destroying.

What to do now? It's all a bit delusioning; from applying for admin based posts a post-labotomy patient could complete, to meeting acquaintances (loosely used) who have climbed the career ladder due to nepotism. There seem to be no doors (or windows) open.

Jealousy is not an attractive quality.
Must try harder.
I wish they manufactured motivation in a can.

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