Archive for December, 2009

Job!

A very quick update to say, I got a job!
Will be giving more details soon.

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Weird, weird dreams.

I think maybe the starnge dreams I had last night were possibly due to some anxiety about going up North for Christmas in a weeks’ time and dealing with parentals. That is the only thing I can pin it down to.

Shall I extrapolate? Please! Let me. These were 3 very vivid dreams all on the same night, each finishing with me waking up shaking my head and wondering whether all that really just happened.

The first dream has no clear beginning or end. All I recall from it is wearing two sets of contact lenses in my left eye. Then when I was required to remove one set, I realised there was another in that eye. I panicked, not sure how I could have missed that. It is very odd. I pulled the last lot out and looked in the mirror. Only to have a ghoulish veiny eyeball stare back. No pupil. No colour bits (the exact name escapes me). Just a veiny, colourless eyeball. Fucked. I went into shock, because although there was no pain, I think my eyes are alright, y’know? I didn’t know how I could live with this change. I’d have to wear coloured contacts ALL THE TIME!!!

So, woke up out of that one, went to the toilet, then collapsed back into sleep to have yet another remarkably strange dream.

This one involved my parents. We were going Christmas shopping together, and I met them in this weird, poorly lit, noir-esque carpark, where they sat in their ute an had literally a mountain of grocery shopping in the tray. There was fruit scattered willy nilly, and a number of high price items that were just lying there open on display. This is highly uncharacteristic of my paranoid parents to just leave things in the ute free for the taking while they ran other errands. I pressed them on it: wtf? They said, don’t worry about it, just get in and we’ll drive to Northland (Northland is a clone mall, with sisters in 2 other directions of Melbourne, filled with your local loveable inbreds and hideous, greasy food courts). I get in the car, and am driving them. We drive to this absolutely massive mall, about 100 times the size of the afore-mentioned Northland. This one was more akin to Chadstone (which has recently been bestowed the title of ‘largest eyesore in the southern hemisphere… I mean…. shopping mall’. What a claim to fame). Approaching this mall, there were about 6 different directions one could take to different carparks, and we choose the one that’s furthest away. To actually get a park. This proved successful. Once parked and exited, I once again pointed out to parents that leaving all their shit lying open in plain view/reach was ridiculous, which they once again met with quizzical looks, raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders. Whatev, your loss. We enter the mall. Chaos ensues. There are literally heaving masses of people. Mum is lost instantaneously. I’m ripping my hair out with anxiety. Dad? Dad is flirting with a coffee barrista. As you do. He’s purchasing a goddamn coffee, while Xmas WW3 is occurring around him. The most notable of this sequence of events, other than the thing that awoke me, was him asking for sour cream in his coffee. SOUR. CREAM. Yeah, I know. In fact, even the barrista thought it was weird.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes, certain.”
Then, he grabs the coffee, looks over at me. I’m glaring so much, my face is red hot from fury. I told him “I hate you so much right now”. A la Missy Elliot. Hahahhaa. Except I really meant it. His response?
“I hate you too.”

Wow. Woke up again. Glass of water, toilet, fed the cat. Back to bed. It was about 5am at this stage.

Last dream, the doozy.
I had hired a house out on the Gold Coast for a 10 year Schoolies Week reunion (Think Spring Break, but for 18yo straight after High School. That’s our legal drinking age). Except, as I’d later found out, I hadn’t really hired the house, my parents had. This dream featured a lot of people from high school, some people from actual Schoolies whom I’d met, my ex partner, and my ex boss (who’s also a good friend of mine now). My ex boss A was bored, as she’s a bit older than me and had nothing in common with everyone at the house. The house was slowly being gatecrashed by a lot of randoms, and it was starting to get nostalgically messy. A left, cruising to other parties. I told her to call me if she was coming home. My ex was there. He had no shirt on, and for some reason I kept rubbing his shoulders. I don’t remember him having hairy shoulders (this is possibly an amalgamation of my current partner, who does), but it was really grossing me out. But I kept doing it. Also, WTF,  he HATED being shirtless. He kept telling me how much he still loved me and how much he wanted us to get back together again, and I was answering him in the same non-confrontational way I did when I still had patience for him: “It wouldn’t work, S, we’re completely different people now, our chemistry is fucked.” Then he attempted to lure me using poetry. Lots of swirling, whirling pieces, about shooting stars and rainbows and storms and camping and a few lines out of a poem he wrote for me a long, long time ago. It was touching, but at the same time really cringeworthy.

Suddenly: my parents. They walk through this back gate of the house’s backyard. The look of horror on my mother’s face is palatable. Dad looks like he’s about to travel back in time, purchase real-life versions of the guns he has replicas of hanging in his study, and shoot holes through my body. And everyone else’s. It was then that it dawns on me that they were renting the place. Because of course, that’s the sort of thing you’re likely to forget when you’ve got a million and one people traipsing through a rented house. Mum grabs me by the arm and yanks me into one of the bedrooms, the floor of which is partially ripped up, tarry footprints leading in and out of the room. She sits me down and quietly gives me the what-for. Apparently, there was a lot of money and gifts and things hidden in that very room!! And people had access to it!! They could’ve stolen it!! I asked mum how much money they forked out for renting the house for the week, saying I could recoup the costs and bond from every person in the house (not realistically viable, but I held out hope in the dream). Mum said, all the money we have. $6000. As I’m about to get up and start asking people for cash, something vibrates under the covers of the bed. It’s a phone. I pick it up, not recognising the caller ID. It’s A, and she’s fucked off her head on pills. She tells me she’s doing great, but the drugs were starting to get a little too much, and she said she was gonna come back. I told her, um, maybe not the best of ideas, seeing as my parents are here and ready to rip out spleens.. And just prior to waking up? I’m going through the house, asking each and every person to give me cash. I can’t be sure of this detail, but I actually think they were handing over their dough!!

Yeah. Weird.

What’s weirder, for me in particular, is that I’ve managed to remember in quite a bit of detail, each dream. A hard task by anyone’s stretch.

Anyway. After some xmas shopping done today and this blog post, I might stroll up the road for a happy hour drink.

Previous post garnered nil response.

I will not be discouraged!!!

HELP!

Asking for help – yes I’m doing it.

My psych pulled out strength cards at one of our previous sessions, and asked me to arrange them in piles of “definitely have” “sometimes have” “would like to have”.

Then out of the definitely have, to select the five that most relevant that apply to me. I chose myself:

* Independent
* Assertive
* Caring
* Supportive
* Open

Fairly inane strengths, but I was feeling particularly pessimistic at the time, and was lucky to put anything in any pile except “would like to have”.

We discussed how important independence is, but how sometimes it may be to our detriment. I wasn’t quite sure what the hell she meant when she said that – but one little thing she said about emotional independence in my relationship, rang bells.

I do not often ask for help. Sure, help with the dishes, can you get that heavy item off the top shelf. Anything else, I am a little too independent, stubborn almost, I’d like to do it all myself, for many many reasons. I was brought up tough. Dad made me do a lot of really tomboyish things that I complained about at the time; arduous, laborious tasks that shat me to no end. Both my parents liked to load up a million chores on me too, again, I whinged and whined but I did them. Now that I have my own place, the habits stick. Living with someone who has been brought up … slightly differently… means I become taskmaster and arse-kicker. Like my parents. Anyway, I’m going on a tangent.

Just as with all these physical tasks, my parents also (without a word being exchanged between any of us about this topic) prided themselves on emotional independence. Dad’s dad died when he was in his early 20s, I’ve never heard him speak of him once. Mum gets angry and emotional when someone isn’t doing anything right, or not behaving the right way, but in terms of asking for any sort of emotional help, well… we all deal with it ourselves. Don’t talk about it.

And yes, I suppose I fall into those lines. I like to share my burden whether it be online or through my journal, or a bitch or two to my friends, but should they ever share their opinions, it’s a personal attack. It’s criticism, it’s “You’re wrong, I’m right”. I know it’s not always logical, but I’m scared of being stung twice. I can’t listen to their advice, not one bit of it, for fear of being dependent, for fear of not being able to handle these things on my own. And of being a burden.

I’m learning to ask for help when I need it. And I need it now. Today’s previous post alluded to this stuckness that I’m feeling – I’m unemployed, I’m a (in my opinion) relatively inexperienced social worker. I’ve applied for so many jobs it’s making me sick looking at job descriptions and writing responses to key selection criteria. Literally, I was actually getting flu-ey last week!

So here’s what I’ve tried. Here’s what I’ve also been doing for the past 3 months.

* job searching daily
* applying only for jobs relevant to my interests and experience (I tried to apply for jobs outside of this and everything came back saying I didn’t display enough experience)
* researching companies I’ve been granted interviews for
* attempting to understand target populations by researching
* signed up to recruitment agencies – one for social work, one for admin/secretarial (the latter being initially as a stop-gap, now it’s become a back-up)
* going to library and reading up on techniques that I use (having used them but not really having time for self-reflection in my previous job, means I needed to theoretically ‘reskill’ myself)
* reading everything imaginable about how to answer job interview questions, best CV formats, presentation, etc.
* taking vitamins and gingko biloba for better brain activity
* reading social work blogs
* keeping my sense of humour (at least trying to!)
* attending professional development and seminars in interest areas (lack of money and the start of holidays means this is starting to not be as possible anymore)

So. Here I am ASKING FOR YOUR HELP.

What else should I be doing? What else can I be doing to increase my likelihood of being hired? What helped for you?

Any advice would be so gratefully appreciated.

PS > I do intend on doing volunteer work in the New Year should I not receive any positive news to any jobs I’ve currently applied for.

Still jobless. Losing hope.

I don’t have much to say, except I’ve now been unemployed for 3 months, sent countless resumes, attended a handful of interviews, and am at a loss as to why it’s just not working out for me currently.

I am today waiting on a phone call from a recruitment agency I signed up with, with whom I attended an interview working with aged people from Eastern Europe last week.
I’m hanging out for this one. Also, I feel if I don’t get it, I’ll feel like a failure.

2009 has been a largely crap year.