When life hands you lemons...throw them at people

I still have the "flux" feeling, it must be said. I feel I have many projects on-the-go but don't want to make a huge amount of mess to start something when I may have to pack up and move everything in the near future.

Mind you, one cannot live life on a "what if" scenario basis. With that in mind, I've decided to continue applying for other jobs while I'm waiting to hear on the one at the Mac store. It'll make the rejection easier to deal with if I am rejected....again...and means I won't have to wait so long to get some cash coming in even if that does happen. There's some work involved though - I need to tailor my resume to the kind of work I'm looking for right now, and all the sites where I have my resume posted will have to be checked and probably amended. At least I'm in much better shape financially since the bail-out from my parents (thanks again folks) but, once again, my credit card balance is starting to mount so I will have to use more cash to pay it down else I'll end up paying hundreds of dollars in interest. It's not quite how I wanted to use that money - I was hoping to get the job, find a home, and then cash everything in that I have (including my tax returns) to help pay for moving costs et al. However, as people in group keep telling me, one cannot control everything that happens, only one's reaction to it. In this case the job is taking longer than I would hope so I need to act accordingly. As ever, it sucks, but such is my lot in life it would appear.

Mentally though things seem to be going quite well. The cash/job situation is the biggest negative influence on my moods right now, although if I'm honest I must admit that thinking of the invisible woman still gets me down from time-to-time. It seems like such a pity, such a waste. Indeed, I still remember an excited MSN conversation we had from months ago when I stated the words, "It'll be a travesty if we don't meet, because we seem so well-matched". Again though, this is another situation entirely beyond my power to influence or control so until she decides it's time to restart communicating then I'm S.O.O.L.

I just hope that she does decide to start communicating again.

But the trend is still good. My weekly CD and GAD scores are still coming in below the average, which means I'm on a downward/positive cycle. It's just that f**king job that I need.

Gotta go - Wednesday is shrinkage day and I need to swap the wheels out on my bike so I can ride downtown.

How the rhino got its skin

So, for some reason I have awoken this morning with the feeling of Rudyard Kipling's rhinoceros.

I have that itchy, displaced, jittery feeling as though my entire life is in flux, and I suppose it is. On the job front I am still waiting to hear back from the Mac store where I interviewed nearly two weeks ago now. They requested references but the last I heard, none of them had been contacted. I've been back in touch with them since then to check whether there was anything else I could do to expedite things but apparently all I can do is wait. In the meantime I'm still regularly submitting stories for the womens' lifestyle website, and my work with the other careers-related annual magazine is done.

I haven't applied for anything else in the meantime because this job seems so close to being 'got' as it were. But, it's triggering my anxiety because it is so important to me.

All else seems to be log-jammed behind it at the moment. Consider that mentally at least, I've decided that the best thing for me is to live alone in my own place. Yet I cannot move until I know I've got something to cover the rent. Thus I cannot yet start on a moving 'project' that would comprise slowly extracting my belongings from the shared parts of the house to either my bedroom or to packed boxes awaiting removal. Equally, I feel I cannot start any major 'home' projects, such as reconciling my music collection and getting a mixing timetable going again, or installing "Final Scratch" so I can - for the first time - mix digital files as well as just vinyl.

Love-wise I'm sorry to report that the invisible woman still isn't either one half of a happy relationship, or forgotten. I haven't heard from her in a month now, and cannot understand why her possible illness seems to prohibit any kind of communication whatsoever. A friend of mine told me the other day that if a woman stops communicating, it's over. I confess I don't want to believe that because I'm still emotionally invested in her, because her track record with communication in general is patchy at best, and most importantly because a prior reply she sent basically said that a lack of communication did not denote a lack of interest.

My best guess is that she's stil convalescing, but it irks me that she can't just say that. After all, that's all I need to know. I wouldn't be surprised if she's feeling like she has too much on her plate right now to even be able to think about another person, or that her doctor has advised she concentrate on getting herself well before attempting anything new that would require emotional commitment. However, I don't know whether that's a correct assumption because I can't get her to confirm or correct it. Still, she haunts me though, and it's often when I'm working in the garage that I'll catch myself daydreaming that she's arrived unannounced and, as I look up from my dismantled bike, there she is, walking down the driveway towards me.

Do I ask too much?

Fitness-wise I'm still feeling pretty puny after my mandatory respite from riding or lifting weights. I've managed three rides now since the big rib-cracking crash, the latest one is in the image above. Whilst I haven't really tested myself on any severe trails or difficult obstacles, the will is still there. That said, my ribs do still ache when I wake in the mornings, and late in the evenings. Maybe I should get an X-ray done just in case, but that'd be a lot of hassle to potentially find out what I already know - that a couple of ribs were indeed cracked and that there's nothing the doc can do except recommend rest.

Still, I feel my life's feet are buried in quicksand. Everything has a temporary feel to it, and I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I am just treading water - not moving towards my goals, not progressing, not learning, not evolving. It's frustrating.

Not much else to say right now *sighs*

The rocky road to vanilla-dom

This week's line graph is brought to you in technicolour widescreen *smiles*

If nothing else, progress in mental health is now undeniable. There's a distinct downward trend in the severity of my symptoms evident over the last six weeks or so. In fact, my weekly scores are significantly below the average so, with time, eventually those two averages will get dragged downwards as well. I know what my shrink would say: "What do you attribute that to?" Well, my ribs have healed enough to have facilitated two off-road rides and a mammoth trip to the grocery store yesterday. That said, it's not so much the introduction of positive things having a beneficial impact on my life as it is the slow but deliberate elimination of those things from my life that bring me down. Such is the personality of a type six - one who seeks to constantly build and reinforce support structures and safety nets in every aspect of one's life.

Of course, because I still haven't heard about the job at the Mac store, all this could prove to be more than a little premature. I'm reticent to apply for other positions when it appears I'm so close to getting this one. This does, admittedly, leave me open to disappointment and more delays if this job doesn't come through. I'm so tired of jobhunting though. Every day, probably 50 per cent of the e-mails I receive that aren't work-related are from a job website - Media Jobs, Workopolis, Monster, Craig's List, the IABC, and others. All of them have to be trawled through, as well as a few others on my Google Reader that I get RSS feeds from, and it's very, very boring. Plus, I know that the whole Canadian job application process, or more specifically the ambiguity of it, is a trigger for my GAD so I won't miss it when it's finally gone. Then there's the fact that it's always on my mind...always. This isn't the nice new job you've applied for whilst you're still doing the old one, when the new job is a "nice to have" but not a necessity. The trouble with applying for jobs when you don't have one already is that it raises the importance of each and every one you go for. You don't want that job, you need it.

It's also counter-productive to my general health because just finding and getting a job is a task that's never complete. There is always another e-mail to read, always another site to review, always a new source that should be checked out. Hence whenever I think about doing anything that might be considered 'fun', the recurring thought I have concerns whether or not I actually deserve to be having fun. Am I up-to-date with e-mail? Have I poked around in every dark employment corner? Can I honestly say that I've tried everything I can? Additionally, every time I go to spend anything more than $20 on something, I have to ask myself, "Can I afford it? Do I really need to buy this right now or can it wait? Can I make it myself?"

This is why I cook all meals at home and cut my own hair. Not at the same time though.

It was interesting to hear a couple of mildly lubricated Queen's University (the 'Oxford' or 'Cambridge' of Canada) graduates complaining about jobhunting in Canada last night. By the way, on the homepage of the uni website it says, "Queen's is one of Canada's leading universities with an international reputation for scholarship, social purpose, spirit and diversity." Diversity huh? I guess that goes alongside the other idealistic principles of being a student, like the proposition that communism can somehow work on Earth even though it's populated by human beings, or that a stolen flashing yellow construction light is an essential addition to any student house.

Anyway, the grads' issue with the country was similar to mine (both of them have worked abroad for several years - London, Paris, and Zurich amongst other places I gather) in that this country seems a lot closer to nepotism than meritocracy. I'd heard a recent statistic that only one in ten jobs in Canada are being advertised. The rest are sourced through networks and people who know other people. And, apparently it's simply because of the excessive demand there is for each and every position at the moment. An advertised job that normally receives a dozen or so applicants is now getting 400+. However, this practice was concluded to be sheer laziness by the two grads, who also spoke of how one's home country is least relevant to an application in, say, the UK whereas it's everything when it comes to Canada. The UK was described as, relatively, being a champion of diversity and actively encouraging recruitment from an international labour pool. Canada meanwhile was described as intensely difficult to come back to after working abroad because many of the skills learned overseas were consistently and mercilessly discounted as being relevant prior job experience.

I suffered a similar fate when moving from Xerox into my first agency role here. I got the old, "Well, you do have lots of experience but little in Canada, so we won't be able to pay you as much." The irony was that only the media landscape was really that different. Clients, practices, methodology and creativity were all pretty much the same. In fact, in general, a great deal of the operational management of that agency had failed to evolve with the times.

My anxiety and self-confidence run in negative symbiosis with each other. However, even I was lead to the train of thought that, were I to open my own PR agency, even I could manage things like finances, operations, IT and HRM better than my boss at the time.

It seems that Canadians are their own worst enemy when it comes to recruitment. Here's a country that regularly talks of how it depends on immigrants, but it seems that they're only needed for the most menial of chores. Serving in Tim Horton's is OK, but earning a $50k+ salary when that job could've gone to a real home-grown Canadian simply won't do, eh? That said, it was fantastic to hear that 'real' Canadians - Queens grads no less - had as much of a bone to pick with Canada as I do.

It makes me wonder what it is about this country and its people that creates this insidious, hidden undercurrent of nepotistic xenophobia. Is it a result of decades of dual-citizenship so-called "Canadians" who actually live elsewhere on the planet for most of their lives, but conveniently return to the Great White North whenever there's signs of a war or coup d'etat in their country of residence? Perhaps it's that many people living in Canada are on their life's "second chance" so to speak, where they attempt to live their life 'the right way' and learn from their prior mistakes. Perhaps this makes them fiercely, if quietly, protective of their country and their status? Maybe it's just poor internal communication - like a nightclub manager spending a fortune on direct marketing to increase membership, only to be scuttled by over-zealous bouncers who stop all those new people from getting in the door. The Devil's Martini (nightclub) springs to mind, and in particular the occasion when a friend and I were trying to get into the VIP room (which we'd booked) for a stag night (that friend's younger brother) but were still refused entry at the door. Meanwhile I witnessed dozens of total strangers approach the bouncers, and offer them their hand for a handshake as a means to deliver a rolled up $20 note or two in order to bribe the bouncer for admittance.

Whatever it is, I don't like it. It's bad for me, bad for Canada, and just downright devolved. If the teachings of Belbin, de Bono, and even George Orwell have said anything at all it's that purposefully mixing people of differing skills and origins is the perfect way to create the ultimate team. Maybe this is why everyone who worked at Xerox seemed to look and dress the same: Dilbert clones all wearing the same ugly 'business casual' clothing, eating the same doughnuts, and drinking the same coffee, or should I say Kool-Ade.

These people should know that single-coloured shirts look best with a tie (otherwise they just look dull), pants are available in colours other than beige or navy blue, and shirts should never, ever be tucked into the waistband of jeans. EVER! Oh, and brown shoes do not go with black pants. I loathe the world of fashion yet even I know these basic principles of not dressing like a total nerd. Oh, and don't get me started on belt clips. Apparently anything bigger than a memory stick and smaller than a compact car comes with a mandatory device to attach it to one's belt. In 'business casual' world, which seems to be a dress code enforced with the sole purpose of keeping the likes of Gap in business, men saunter through the office with their BlackBerries belt-clipped low like a Colt 45 on a gunslinger. Sad but true.

Thank god I applied for a job at a Mac store. Now there's a company a million miles from beige, taupe, cream, or should I say more accurately, vanilla. Funny to think that if Canadian commerce thought more about the myriad of ice cream flavours and less about laissez faire then this country would probably be a happier place, and not just for me either.

Not all traces of glee are wiped out, apparently

A friend of mine in my group therapy group made an astute observation the other day. He'd been looking at my blog and, in particular, the line graph I use to monitor my progress.

He asked me why I only tracked the negative things, feelings, and moods I experience rather than the positive. He's got a point, and it had never occurred to me before, but I guess it is an arse-about face way of monitoring progress. Trouble is, one can scour online all day and never find a medical questionnaire that's been phrased that way around i.e. positively.

I have been thinking about it but I don't have it sussed yet. Should I record every moment when I actually feel something I haven't felt in a long time? Like joy? Glee? Ecstasy? Serenity? Security? How do I do that and how would I quantify them? What would I call them? "My happy moments," sounds too much like a euphemism for masturbation to me. Either that or it's perilously close to one of my favourite e-mail sign-offs, "Warm regards". To me, that sounds like the person sending the e-mail just urinated on the recipient.

Warm regards indeed. I once gave my Grandma warm regards on holiday in Majorca when I was about nine or ten years old. I'd been whining for two things on that holiday - first to play mini-golf, and second to go out in the Mediterranean on a pedalo. When the opportunity eventually came to take the boat out i.e. when my parents and grandparents could stand the nagging no more, I coincidentally needed to pee. However, I was so afeared that if I said I had to go to the toilet first my long-awaited opportunity would be taken away from me. So I kept my mouth shut.

Ten minutes later my Grandma made the same noise a donkey probably would if you inserted a freshly boiled potato up its bum. I can even remember what she said, as her voice slowly pitched upwards: "Ooooooh! It's all warm!"

It probably was too, given that I'd just peed right into the back of the plastic seat she was sitting in. I think my Mum (in the other pedalo seat, but not pee'd on) said, "Why didn't you just jump in the sea?"

I still don't know the answer to that question.

Anyway, neither pedalos nor incontinence have anything to do with the legendary Playstation game, "Wipeout". 'Twas this that led to the first gleeful moment I can remember in a long, long time. The nice chap who lives next-door brought his PS2 over and set it up in the garage, so we have a nice little lads' den in there now. And then he left it there, which is pretty darn cool if you ask me. The gleeful moment actually came when I was playing the game though. It sounds infantile I know, but if you've ever been perpetually beaten into submission by a video game, and then you pull out an amazing if not enchanted flying lap (circa 1,000mph), obliterating the competition with missiles, photon cannons and allsorts as you go, then a genuine 'whoop' is often heard, if not eminently appropriate.

It's good I noticed it though. I nearly dropped the controller just so I could immediately blog about it. I even mentioned it in the following group therapy. "Hey! I have something to talk about this week! I felt GLEE...WOO HOO!"

It's kinda sad that one solitary moment of glee sticks out so. But let's face it, there hasn't been much glee in the last year, so as I said to my esteemed acquaintances in group therapy, "I'll take glee wherever I can get it, no matter how trivial it might seem to other people."

So if you're ceatively-minded or a whiz with MS Excel, then feel free to comment either on how I might record such instances, or what I might call them. In the meantime I'll try to look forward to my second gleeful feeling this year.

"Cautiously optimistic"?

Obviously my moods are somehow secretly linked to the North American economy. I read in Metro yesterday that the economic depression is over, according to the Bank of Canada at least. Apparently the Canadian economy in particular is expected to bounce back at twice the rate of the American one, though I have to say I have my suspicions about that given how closely intertwined they both are.

Similarly, in my tattered little life it does feel like improvement or at least change is around the corner. The main factor in this is the job I went for at the nearby Apple store at Danforth & Chester. The interview went very well from my perspective, and from buying things at the store I had already developed a good rapport with the woman working there. At the end of the interview I was asked to provide references, but I'm reluctant to perceive this as a good sign when I've been disappointed so many times since falling out of PR, or perhaps with PR. There was a time, somewhere in the murky past, that I'd be supremely confident by now but in this case all I really have is hope. I've done everything I can.

The point is that getting this job would finance not only groceries and all the usual 'bla bla bla' of life but also an escape. Living where I am was the perfect fit at the time I moved in. It was quick, convenient, and easy. Plus I was left alone, and put under no pressure to do, well, anything really. Thus it was a good place in which to convalesce. Now though, the feelings I'm having are similar to those I had in my second year of university (1995-6) when I shared a house with four other guys, of which two were definitely not housebroken. At least not to the standard that I would expect. More importantly, I have simply developed a hankering for my own place...or should I say a place to call my own.

It struck me that I've never lived alone. When I left home at the age of 20 I moved into accommodation supplied by the company I was working for at the time. It was a mezzanine apartment with three bedrooms over the high street of an affluent, West London town, and all the rooms were occupied for most of the two years I lived there. From there I went directly to university and had the usual 'halls of residence' experience plus two houses in my second and third year when I shared with others.

Following a brief stint back at my folks' house (because I was skint) I moved into South-East London and, again, shared a house with two others. After that I was pretty much co-habiting with the woman who later became my ex-wife.

Of course, I'd like to buy a place of my own but despite my parents' most generous bail-out last month I still have zero savings other than my RSP, which isn't enough to cover a deposit on a place. I will get some money from the divorce when it comes through in three or so months' time but this won't be enough either, so I'll be renting again for now. I know it'll be a studio apartment too. The furniture I have from the divorce is all physically massive - a sofa, a sofa bed, kitchen table and chairs, all of which take up lots of space. There's no point in opting for a one-bedroomed apartment because it effectively divides the total square footage in half, and would probably mean I'd have to construct a double-decker sofa somehow. My carpentry skills stretch only as far as assembling Ikea furniture so this isn't a practical possibility. Additionally, many studio apartments are basements so it's likely the ceiling will be pretty low.

It would be a shame if the only reward a house guest got for clambering up a step ladder to get to the top sofa was a dislodged vertebrae from cracking their head on the ceiling as they tried to sit down.

So while I am endeavouring not to count my chickens before they're hatched, all I can think about is the sheer joy of having my own little place. Somewhere I can walk around starkers if I feel like it. Where I can smoke weed indoors. Where, in the words of a journalist friend of mine, "You can get up and make scrambled eggs at four o'clock in the morning if you want to". A place where I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, and however I want.

I don't even like scrambled eggs, but I totally understand what she's saying. I do find that I cannot help but react to my housemate, and it seems that affectiveness will continue to be part of my personality rather than just my personality disorders. I tiptoe when he's in bed. I avoid the bathroom when I think he wants to use it. I feel guilty if he mentions doing his laundry and I still have my clothes in the machine. And, most important of all, he's not keen on me having people over, which is in direct opposition to one of the facets of my recovery plan. I crave company, and whilst I do find social 'en masse' situations draining on occasion, when it comes to close friends I love to have them over and - if possible - to cook for them. It would feel like strong, certain progression in an upward direction. It would make me feel empowered, more in control of my life, more independent, and less emotionally injured. Less like 'damaged goods'.

If I'm really lucky I'll either find a place that's completely soundproof, or has deaf neighbours who can't hear stonking house music at several decibels when I'm letting off a little steam.

But, like I say, I am cautiously optimistic. If I get my hopes up and then for some reason I don't get the job at the Apple store then I will have a much greater height to fall from emotionally. It's happened before, and I think not getting a job as a bike mechanic at MEC was the biggest disappointment. Never mind a 'slap in the face'. Jesus, what a comprehensive kick in the balls that was. It was as if I was tied down naked with my legs spreadeagled, as Arnold Schwarzenegger took a run-up at my cowering testicles after donning a pair of steel toe-capped boots. How can someone who's been racing bikes since 1986, has five years' retail management experience, and who could probably disassemble a bike blindfold not get that job? If nothing else, it makes it easier to understand why such cognitive distortions as, "There's a national conspiracy to ensure I commit suicide because I can't fend for myself" were so difficult to fight at the time.

I have to go. Obsessing about how I could have done the interview better or, more aptly, what reason the store will come up with for not giving me the job won't do me any good so I have ensured I have social plans to execute and lots on my to-do list. Hopefully, one of my next few posts will be about how I've managed to get my first regular stream of income since Interbrand last year...hopefully...