May 26th 2016
Today I realised that one year ago yesterday I was sitting my penultimate University exam.
I got a text from a Uni friend who asked if I wanted to come up to Cardiff this weekend, because the boys who did a fourth year are finishing exams this week. One whole year later.
And what have I done in that year? Not a great deal. I’m still working a dead-end job for minimum wage. I haven’t progressed my career at all – shit, I haven’t even started it.
I finished Uni with a degree in Mathematics one year ago and I’m still as good as unemployed. And now I have to compete against an entirely new set of graduates for jobs.
I have no idea how time is passing so fast. I’m losing it. Time, that is. An entire year.
Okay, I spent three months travelling Europe. That was fun. That was an experience I’ll never forget (although with my memory….) I’m glad I did that. But I got back almost seven months ago. I went straight back to my old job because I was indebted to my parents, and I needed money. And in January I started looking for a new job. It’s almost June.
My applications started off well, two interviews straight off the bat. Got offered one, rejected it because I wanted the other job more, didn’t get offered the other job. Standard. Classic.
And since then I’ve just been SUPER demotivated but I’ve applied for hundreds more (not an exaggeration – I counted) and haven’t had as much as a single interview.
And six months later I’m still where I was. Where I’ve been for six years. And i want to quit but I can’t quit because I’ve got nowhere to go, and no money. But the fact that I have a job doesn’t motivate me to get a new one as much as I’d like to. I send emails, I apply, but I’m not desperately searching. But I should be. And maybe I would be if I didn’t currently have a job.
So I might quit.
And then with all of the free time I suddenly have I can just sit in my room and write, and actually do something I want to do, and I’m not gonna have any money to leave the house anyway so it’s all good.
Nobody wants to give me a job, so I might just make one for myself.
In my second year of University I wrote a novel. That was in November of 2013. That was two and a half years ago. How the fuck is it possible that that was that long ago? And how the fuck have I just used the word ‘that’ three times in four words.
What have I done with that novel in two and a half years?
Couple of spelling and grammar checks. Couple of mini-reworks. ’bout it really.
It’s probably ready to go. It’s probably been ready for two years. Haven’t sent it off or anything. Dunno why. Lazy innit.
But is it laziness? Because it’s not like sending an email requires much effort. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe. Fear of what? Dunno. Why? Dunno.
I’m a mess.
This post is a mess.
I didn’t want to write about serving fucking pizzas all day so I flicked through my phone to find inspiration for something to write about and I found that text and it depressed me because I’ve wasted a year of my life. Or maybe I’ve wasted the entire thing.
I just want to do something with my life and it’s really really easy you’ve just got to do but I just can’t and I don’t know why and I’ve been having this same argument with my self for two years and I don’t know how to fix it and I don’t know what to do. I just want to do something. Be something. And maybe my motivations are wrong but my dreams are real.
I’m losing it.
Until tomorrow, I barely even want to press the ‘post’ button.