I've decided to stop shaking my fist and chill out and cheer up, so you can now find me over at this address:
Monday 24 September 2007
Friday 27 July 2007
the way forward.
Top tip: if you don't have enough time for all the things you need and/or want to do, cut down on sleep. As the days go by it gets easier rather than harder, and the extra hours are most pleasant. There are a few side effects, such as mild confusion and a predisposition to fall alseep during a boring shift at work, but most of these can be countered by vast amounts of sugary coffee.
Thursday 26 July 2007
things are getting desperate.
I hate my job. And I mean hate. I've had jobs I've disliked before (remember Tesco, anyone?) - in fact I've never had a job that I've liked - but this one has caused me to reach new levels of loathing. In the past I was always able to put work out of my mind when away from it and centre my life around my days off, but now the objection is so strong that it dominates even my days off - I can't relax and enjoy life fully, even enjoy it at 75%, when I know at some time soon I'll have to go back to that place.
When a colleague broke a bone and was signed off for 12 weeks I felt jealous and wished it was me. A broken bone seems more than worth it for 12 weeks off - people tell me that's an insane way to think but to me it seems perfectly logical. That place has seeped into my soul and is gradually killing any positive spirit I have left.
I am making progress in finding something new however, and have a phone interview next week, for a call centre job. Writing about it here might jinx me somewhat but no-one reads this anyway (I'm not saying that as a way of getting people to comment and say they do, because I honestly think that no-one does) and I have to do something whilst I wait for Flickr to upload my photos... Anyway, that shows how desperate I've got - if I get the job I'll be handling enquiries about credit cards, which is both boring and against my principles*. But it's daytime hours, only one Saturday in two (not two full weekends in three) and I won't be physically assaulted at work. Someone get me the £$%* out of my current job ASAP, please.
* Well, perhaps that's too strong a way of putting it - I have a credit card and don't think they're entirely morally corrupt; but I always vowed to do a job for the good of society, not for big business. Social care is gradually driving me completely insane however and unfortunately this is a time when I need to put my own happiness first.
____
I have spent the last few days in Dumfries and Galloway with my mum, sister and grandad. A very pleasant time indeed - lots of walks, lots of tasty meals, and it's a beautiful part of the country. Photos here, although unless you're an approved contact you won't be able to see them all.
Wednesday 27 June 2007
pace is the trick.
I just deleted my urbandecayed blog. It never recieved any comments and (as my hidden hit counter proved) no-one bothered to visit it much, which is fine. I should learn to think things through before jumping in with both feet.
Over the weekend I filled up my flickr account and thus was obliged to delete photos or upgrade to a paid one, and being not very in control of my finances at the moment (and expecting a tax rebate soon) I decided to take the latter option. I'm pleased that I did - I now have limitless upload space and can create many sets. My urban decay photos are thus all in this set, my Blythe doll pictures all in this set and numerous other exposures are grouped together. Want a look at all of it? Here you go. Yes, flickr, I am hereby praising you in a blog and perhaps advertising you. Aren't you happy?
One thing that doesn't make me happy is shift work. I'm not technically even a full time worker yet it sure feels that way when all my free time is on weekdays (usually weekday mornings) when no-one else is about. It must be joyous to have every evening and weekend free, it truly must. Of course, my shifts wouldn't be so bad if the person who handles the rotas at my work did it with a sense of fairness - 50% of all the shifts are 0800 - 1600 but only 20% of the ones I do - I'm usually there from 1430 - 2230, and I have come to loathe it. It ruins the entire day when one has to work later - and several days in a row without being able to fully relax is not good for anyone's happiness levels. No wonder I sleep so much. Today I have a new worker shadowing me and watching what I do. This is good, yet surprising, because it proves the bosses do not think I'm entirely incompetent.
Over the weekend I filled up my flickr account and thus was obliged to delete photos or upgrade to a paid one, and being not very in control of my finances at the moment (and expecting a tax rebate soon) I decided to take the latter option. I'm pleased that I did - I now have limitless upload space and can create many sets. My urban decay photos are thus all in this set, my Blythe doll pictures all in this set and numerous other exposures are grouped together. Want a look at all of it? Here you go. Yes, flickr, I am hereby praising you in a blog and perhaps advertising you. Aren't you happy?
One thing that doesn't make me happy is shift work. I'm not technically even a full time worker yet it sure feels that way when all my free time is on weekdays (usually weekday mornings) when no-one else is about. It must be joyous to have every evening and weekend free, it truly must. Of course, my shifts wouldn't be so bad if the person who handles the rotas at my work did it with a sense of fairness - 50% of all the shifts are 0800 - 1600 but only 20% of the ones I do - I'm usually there from 1430 - 2230, and I have come to loathe it. It ruins the entire day when one has to work later - and several days in a row without being able to fully relax is not good for anyone's happiness levels. No wonder I sleep so much. Today I have a new worker shadowing me and watching what I do. This is good, yet surprising, because it proves the bosses do not think I'm entirely incompetent.
Tuesday 19 June 2007
contradictions are my speciality.
I never intended this blog to become overtly personal, but perhaps it will become increasingly so. There is something quite freeing in releasing words out onto the internet, message in a bottle style, especially to this page which is probably not read by many people. I also like that this is public, it makes me think more carefully about what I will write. Quite a contradictory pair of things - I like writing here because I don't think many people read and yet I also like writing here because anyone could read and I am forced to choose my words carefully. Contradictions are my speciality.
Today I have been writing for roomthirteen.com, reviewing CDs as I always do. I've also been shopping, mostly for food and also for a new pair of slippers - slippers are thin on the ground at this time of year which is rather silly considering that Dundee rarely sees a temperature above 20 degrees in summer or winter. I got two crisp new pound notes in my change which was vaguely special since I hadn't seen one for a while and thought they were being phased out or something.
Everything has been overhung with the dread of having to work tomorrow, Thursday and Saturday. A job shouldn't ruin the rest of one's life but mine manages it. Tonight I will make gin cocktails and think of my Blythe doll who is coming over from Asia and probably watch 'A Scanner Darkly'; and most importantly I'll try to forget about it.
Today I have been writing for roomthirteen.com, reviewing CDs as I always do. I've also been shopping, mostly for food and also for a new pair of slippers - slippers are thin on the ground at this time of year which is rather silly considering that Dundee rarely sees a temperature above 20 degrees in summer or winter. I got two crisp new pound notes in my change which was vaguely special since I hadn't seen one for a while and thought they were being phased out or something.
Everything has been overhung with the dread of having to work tomorrow, Thursday and Saturday. A job shouldn't ruin the rest of one's life but mine manages it. Tonight I will make gin cocktails and think of my Blythe doll who is coming over from Asia and probably watch 'A Scanner Darkly'; and most importantly I'll try to forget about it.
Sunday 17 June 2007
now you'll understand why I'm unpopular.
I don't understand the current obesssions many people have for pirates or Harry Potter. I liked pirates when I was 4, liked them a lot, but at 22 I don't feel the need to decorate every item of clothing I own with a skull (or a bunch of skulls). The worst kind of crazes are those that followers believe to be quirky but are in fact far too mainstream and uninspired to be anything but a trend followed by sheep, and the pirate obsession is a perfect example of this.
As for Harry Potter, I couldn't get through even a chapter of one book without wondering what the point was, and the movies are just as irrelevant, packed with cliches. Maybe I'm missing something, but I've sampled both ideas and found them boring - perhaps other people feel the same but are afraid to admit it because they want to join in?
As for Harry Potter, I couldn't get through even a chapter of one book without wondering what the point was, and the movies are just as irrelevant, packed with cliches. Maybe I'm missing something, but I've sampled both ideas and found them boring - perhaps other people feel the same but are afraid to admit it because they want to join in?
Tuesday 12 June 2007
the banes of my life.
Yes, I abandoned my rantings again, although quite honestly I wasn't aware that it had been over a month. There just aren't enough hours in the day for all the things that I want to do in life - my head is filled with ideas for projects and lists of books to read, films to watch, things to explore, people I want to get to know - and on top of that there are the mundane necessities of life that require seemingly constant attention.
I do so wish that I didn't have to have a job - this isn't because I'm bone idle, quite the opposite. I resent so much of my life being eaten away by a job that doesn't interest me enough to justify the amount of time it occupies; and I resent the emphasis our society puts upon earning money. The purpose of life is not to earn as much money as possible, it is to enjoy, to explore, to express and create.
"Why not find a job that combines your interests with the (unfortunate?) necessity of earning a living?", I hear you ask. There aren't any jobs that will allow me to do that - a job means being enslaved to an employer, doing things they want in a place they want you to be, when they tell you to. In my mind a job means doing something I don't want to do in a place I don't want to be. So I will beaver away at my little projects and hope one day that something will come of them.
On another note, I am sick and tired of being told I should lose weight. Not personally, of course, but indirectly by way of the media. The hypocrisy that they churn out grows ever more ridiculous - now that a backlash has begun over Size Zero women are constantly reminded that we should be a "healthy size" - a fair enough idea, in theory. In practice however this "healthy size" propogated by the media and people in it is a meagre size 8 or 10 - not a healthy weight for many women! I am a size 12/14, either overweight or almost there depending on who you ask, and perfectly healthy. A size 8 may be healthy for some, but for most it is still too thin.
The media need to realise that the "healthy" ideal doeasn't have to mean slim and healthy. I recently read an interview with an actress who claimed she was now healthy, having "slimmed" (in other words, starved) from a size 14 to an 8; that she hated the craze for unrealistic super-skinniness and that at her current size could still have "the occasional takeaway" providing she "spent 3 hours at the gym the next day". That isn't healthy behaviour, that is trying to burn away everything you eat and thinking of food as an enemy that has to be worked off and out of your body. It is downright hypcritical to condemn Size Zero in one sentence and then talk about a strict diet and exercise regime in the next.
I am not advocating that we all eat nothing but junk food and sit around on our backsides all day. I am simply trying to highlight the twisted view the media presents of the "ideal woman" even when it claims it is being realistic. Eat fruit and veg, exercise, try not to eat 1kg of chcocolate a day; but don't make it an obsession. Sensible and realistic isn't exercising away every extra calorie or having one treat a week, it's realising food is one of life's pleasures and that there are far more interesting things to focus on than diet.
I do so wish that I didn't have to have a job - this isn't because I'm bone idle, quite the opposite. I resent so much of my life being eaten away by a job that doesn't interest me enough to justify the amount of time it occupies; and I resent the emphasis our society puts upon earning money. The purpose of life is not to earn as much money as possible, it is to enjoy, to explore, to express and create.
"Why not find a job that combines your interests with the (unfortunate?) necessity of earning a living?", I hear you ask. There aren't any jobs that will allow me to do that - a job means being enslaved to an employer, doing things they want in a place they want you to be, when they tell you to. In my mind a job means doing something I don't want to do in a place I don't want to be. So I will beaver away at my little projects and hope one day that something will come of them.
On another note, I am sick and tired of being told I should lose weight. Not personally, of course, but indirectly by way of the media. The hypocrisy that they churn out grows ever more ridiculous - now that a backlash has begun over Size Zero women are constantly reminded that we should be a "healthy size" - a fair enough idea, in theory. In practice however this "healthy size" propogated by the media and people in it is a meagre size 8 or 10 - not a healthy weight for many women! I am a size 12/14, either overweight or almost there depending on who you ask, and perfectly healthy. A size 8 may be healthy for some, but for most it is still too thin.
The media need to realise that the "healthy" ideal doeasn't have to mean slim and healthy. I recently read an interview with an actress who claimed she was now healthy, having "slimmed" (in other words, starved) from a size 14 to an 8; that she hated the craze for unrealistic super-skinniness and that at her current size could still have "the occasional takeaway" providing she "spent 3 hours at the gym the next day". That isn't healthy behaviour, that is trying to burn away everything you eat and thinking of food as an enemy that has to be worked off and out of your body. It is downright hypcritical to condemn Size Zero in one sentence and then talk about a strict diet and exercise regime in the next.
I am not advocating that we all eat nothing but junk food and sit around on our backsides all day. I am simply trying to highlight the twisted view the media presents of the "ideal woman" even when it claims it is being realistic. Eat fruit and veg, exercise, try not to eat 1kg of chcocolate a day; but don't make it an obsession. Sensible and realistic isn't exercising away every extra calorie or having one treat a week, it's realising food is one of life's pleasures and that there are far more interesting things to focus on than diet.
Wednesday 9 May 2007
I haven't disappeared (although I might wish I had).
It's been a while since I've written in here, so long in fact that any readers I ever have acquired have probably stopped checking for updates. One does not write to be read however (or at least one should not write to be read, since being in flow is ultimately more contributory to happiness than fame, as this book asserts), and I need to kill some time whilst I wait for a landlord-promised-workman to arrive to sort out the damp in my flat. The socialist part of me hates the culture of property ownership that holds strong in the UK, yet the selfish part of me knows I'd run out to buy a mould-free flat without a view of a scheme tower block as soon as I had the means (which looks ever less likely).
That's just ramble, however; and this blog is supposed to be one of shaken little fists and universally-relate-able (and random words hyphenated together, seemingly) rants rather than contemplations on my everyday life. Something minor yet universal that has irked me in the past week is the absolute and total rudeness of insurance salespeople. At the weekend my partner and I tried to set up contents insurance for our flat (the local neds are unlikely to be interested in our fickle computers and arthouse DVD collection, but they can't see that from the front door); yes, I know we should already have it, but insurance isn't fun and we are hedonistic young things (or lazy, you can make a judgement on that). Within five minutes of our submitting a quote request to confused.com (a business that has possibly one of the most annoying adverts on television) a woman with the sort of voice that makes you wish you never had ears was on the phone, requesting that she speak to the person who had submitted a quote request. I'd have told her to get stuffed straightaway, but fortunately for her the person who had used their name on the form was more polite and told her she could call back tomorrow. She did call back the next day, but since I use an answer machine to screen such unwanted calls, she was not greeted with an answer.
I'm aware that such salespeople are only doing their jobs, and that it is part of modern society bla, bla) to be hassled over the telephone, but I refuse to accept or welcome it. Yes, it might be helpful to be offered insurance when you've just looked online, but company phone numbers are there on the screen and if people are capable of filling in a form online they are capable of jotting down and dialling the numbers in their own time. I find it downright insulting that someone assumes I need to be called and am not able to choose when to organise such things by myself. Even more aggravating are the people who cold call you to sell you things in the privacy of your own home - how intrusive can they get? On the rare occasions I pick up the phone and am greeted by the voice of a company on the line I hang up without a word. Call me mean, but there are plenty of other jobs in the world besides cold-calling. At the rate things are going we won't even need to actively look for the things we need to buy in shops or online in a few years' time as we'll just sit at home waiting for a call: "I hope the bread people call today, because we're almost out".
To close I shall say a few words on the Scottish election, not that there is much to say as it was all such a farce. Firstly, I resent the fact that there is no decent mainstream left-wing party to vote for - you have the real Tories, Labour who are Tories with a cheesier grin and the SNP who don't really stand for much besides hating the British government. The SNP get votes because people don't want to vote Tory, but hate Labour and want a viable alternative (I'm not sure how viable independence would genuinely be, but the SNP are popular, and that alone renders them viable in most people's eyes). I gave the SSP and Lib Dems my votes, they got nowhere but at least I know I supported something I believe in rather than the lesser of several evils.
That's just ramble, however; and this blog is supposed to be one of shaken little fists and universally-relate-able (and random words hyphenated together, seemingly) rants rather than contemplations on my everyday life. Something minor yet universal that has irked me in the past week is the absolute and total rudeness of insurance salespeople. At the weekend my partner and I tried to set up contents insurance for our flat (the local neds are unlikely to be interested in our fickle computers and arthouse DVD collection, but they can't see that from the front door); yes, I know we should already have it, but insurance isn't fun and we are hedonistic young things (or lazy, you can make a judgement on that). Within five minutes of our submitting a quote request to confused.com (a business that has possibly one of the most annoying adverts on television) a woman with the sort of voice that makes you wish you never had ears was on the phone, requesting that she speak to the person who had submitted a quote request. I'd have told her to get stuffed straightaway, but fortunately for her the person who had used their name on the form was more polite and told her she could call back tomorrow. She did call back the next day, but since I use an answer machine to screen such unwanted calls, she was not greeted with an answer.
I'm aware that such salespeople are only doing their jobs, and that it is part of modern society bla, bla) to be hassled over the telephone, but I refuse to accept or welcome it. Yes, it might be helpful to be offered insurance when you've just looked online, but company phone numbers are there on the screen and if people are capable of filling in a form online they are capable of jotting down and dialling the numbers in their own time. I find it downright insulting that someone assumes I need to be called and am not able to choose when to organise such things by myself. Even more aggravating are the people who cold call you to sell you things in the privacy of your own home - how intrusive can they get? On the rare occasions I pick up the phone and am greeted by the voice of a company on the line I hang up without a word. Call me mean, but there are plenty of other jobs in the world besides cold-calling. At the rate things are going we won't even need to actively look for the things we need to buy in shops or online in a few years' time as we'll just sit at home waiting for a call: "I hope the bread people call today, because we're almost out".
To close I shall say a few words on the Scottish election, not that there is much to say as it was all such a farce. Firstly, I resent the fact that there is no decent mainstream left-wing party to vote for - you have the real Tories, Labour who are Tories with a cheesier grin and the SNP who don't really stand for much besides hating the British government. The SNP get votes because people don't want to vote Tory, but hate Labour and want a viable alternative (I'm not sure how viable independence would genuinely be, but the SNP are popular, and that alone renders them viable in most people's eyes). I gave the SSP and Lib Dems my votes, they got nowhere but at least I know I supported something I believe in rather than the lesser of several evils.
Sunday 22 April 2007
first post.
Hello and welcome.
After spending the best part of 90 minutes customising the appearance of this thing and filling in the profile section (what a glorious opportunity to make myself seem more interesting than I am) I now find myself lost for words, or at least unsure where to begin. I suppose explaining the existence of this blog would be as good a place as any, since it feels somewhat indulgent to expect that anyone would be interested in the self-publishing ramblings of yet another disgruntled twenty-something. So, here goes.
Since leaving university last summer (graduating, not leaving, I should say - I did actually finish, despite the fact I have a job that requires no qualifications and frequently involves cleaning up things one would rather never have to see, never mind get close to) my writing output has been rather pathetic. Aside from my CD reviews (for this site) and various personal correspondences, I never write anything. This from the girl who always said it wouldn't matter if she failed to find a career as she only wanted to be a novelist.
The central problem being that I hate everything I write - I even hate this sentence, and I haven't finished it yet. Yet at the same time my manic ego prevents redrafting or asking for advice (a tumour on the side of this very problem is my enormous dislike of most amateur writing, even most amateur writers and cannot bear to be a part of that scene. There, I said it, you may now spam this journal with anonymous comments of bile and hatred. Let me explain - a large proportion of amatuer writers are entirely talentless, influenced solely by chick-lit and bestseller lists, without interesting life experiences, unique perspective or anything important to say. They generally aspire towards a bland, overly-desciptive style packed with paint-by-numbers "emotion" and characters it is impossible to have any interest in besides hoping that they get killed off. Thus, I am sick of sharing stylised pieces of work with other "writers" only to be told I need to "tidy up" the grammar and add more desciption. Once you know the rules, you can break them - these people are living under the rules, not above them, and thus in bringing each other up they can only bring me down); and the end result is that nothing gets written. I don't want to end up fifty and still in social care, and if an online journal gets me writing publicly about anything it can only be a "good thing", even if I offend a few people along the way and end up writing for a non-existent audience.
Don't be expecting updates of a personal type here - I won't be telling you what I had for breakfast or how my day at work was. I will give my opinion on curent events, music, books and films, and there will be more than the occasional rant. All of this assuming, of course, that I don't give up this project almost as soon as I've begun, as I am wont to do.
After spending the best part of 90 minutes customising the appearance of this thing and filling in the profile section (what a glorious opportunity to make myself seem more interesting than I am) I now find myself lost for words, or at least unsure where to begin. I suppose explaining the existence of this blog would be as good a place as any, since it feels somewhat indulgent to expect that anyone would be interested in the self-publishing ramblings of yet another disgruntled twenty-something. So, here goes.
Since leaving university last summer (graduating, not leaving, I should say - I did actually finish, despite the fact I have a job that requires no qualifications and frequently involves cleaning up things one would rather never have to see, never mind get close to) my writing output has been rather pathetic. Aside from my CD reviews (for this site) and various personal correspondences, I never write anything. This from the girl who always said it wouldn't matter if she failed to find a career as she only wanted to be a novelist.
The central problem being that I hate everything I write - I even hate this sentence, and I haven't finished it yet. Yet at the same time my manic ego prevents redrafting or asking for advice (a tumour on the side of this very problem is my enormous dislike of most amateur writing, even most amateur writers and cannot bear to be a part of that scene. There, I said it, you may now spam this journal with anonymous comments of bile and hatred. Let me explain - a large proportion of amatuer writers are entirely talentless, influenced solely by chick-lit and bestseller lists, without interesting life experiences, unique perspective or anything important to say. They generally aspire towards a bland, overly-desciptive style packed with paint-by-numbers "emotion" and characters it is impossible to have any interest in besides hoping that they get killed off. Thus, I am sick of sharing stylised pieces of work with other "writers" only to be told I need to "tidy up" the grammar and add more desciption. Once you know the rules, you can break them - these people are living under the rules, not above them, and thus in bringing each other up they can only bring me down); and the end result is that nothing gets written. I don't want to end up fifty and still in social care, and if an online journal gets me writing publicly about anything it can only be a "good thing", even if I offend a few people along the way and end up writing for a non-existent audience.
Don't be expecting updates of a personal type here - I won't be telling you what I had for breakfast or how my day at work was. I will give my opinion on curent events, music, books and films, and there will be more than the occasional rant. All of this assuming, of course, that I don't give up this project almost as soon as I've begun, as I am wont to do.
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