It's been a crap few weeks with a few moments to give me hope.
I occasionally wibble on about how getting a cold is considerably more dodgy for me than most people and as I enter my third week of the virus/after-effects/sinusitis/virus/repeat cycle it's beginning to really hack me off, big time and has, at times, felt a little like my job search - drudgery intermingled with a ray of hope or two that the nightmare will end.
Yes, I'm well aware that I'm laying it on thick, but I'm getting to the stage where, despite being nearly 54, I'm having to explain (for my benefit more than anything, probably) to visitors why there are so many crumpled tissues in my office bin full of a cold, viscous and potentially unpleasant, substance that sticks to blankets (and tissues), so they don't think I've rediscovered continuous wanking in my 50s or it's just a five year accumulation of jizzum...
I've had some interviews - three to be precise - and I'm no more confident now than I was before them. I should be pulling out of daylight deprivation induced depression by now, but the winter has been so mild and almost spring-like at times that I've never really plumbed the depths I sometimes do (like last year, for instance). One of the jobs might still be up in the air - I didn't get the one I went for but there might be another position (I've heard this before so many times now that I'm thinking it's just the bosses way of making the loser feel a bit better, so I expect I won't hear another word from them). The second of the jobs I had one of the worst interviews I've ever had and despite asking for feedback when I left, I haven't heard anything a week later and I suspect that I screwed up with that one.
The third and final one so far was yesterday and at least I wasn't walking around full of cold - I was half full of cold. It's the position I least wanted, so things might take a turn for the better, because beggars can't be choosers.
These interviews were the highlights, not much else is worth crowing about. My one source of income got taken away from me. The little dog walking job I had stopped acrimoniously and has led to me not speaking to the young neighbours we had gotten on so well with. I thought they were aware of my situation to be sympathetic about it, but they wanted to ensure they didn't let a complete stranger down even if it meant fucking up my life just a bit more. I wasn't happy about it and discovered there is a huge difference between communicating with the young in a stressful situation than there is with people of your own age. My histrionic rhetoric, designed to induce guilt and thought, was taken remarkably literally resulting in me being accused of 'only thinking of myself' and being accused of being 'aggressive and insulting' when the most blatant aggression and insults were coming from my neighbour. Now, I'm not having a good time and I might have overreacted, but it appears that it was nowhere near as bad as their overreaction.
We no longer talk to them so expect a new addition to the local nickname roster. It's a shame and knowing what an air-headed, paranoid twit the blond bimbo is I expect their house will be up for sale by March.
Subsequently, I now have no money, a fat overdraft and no income - all really positive for someone as flaky as I am at the moment. So, I have a few Borderline Press books and a few other collectable bits and bobs - such as the original Alans Moore & Davis Captain Britains; signed limited edition books and I'd even offer to sire children for you, but I fire blanks. If anyone fancies buying something, drop me a line, please...