Sometimes we gotta go
Where nobody knows your name
Leave all the things we knew
And learn how to start again
'I Go Hard, I Go Home' The Presets
Well, today didn't go quite as planned. Not in a bad way, just after my pledge yesterday about finding and conquering a scary thing and finding not one but two scary things, I had slightly different things in mind than having a massive wardrobe clearout and hauling off two huge bags of good but not really Sandy clothes to the local Age UK shop. Is this me trying to avoid the scary things, or simply another part of the self help clearing of the decks? I'll go with the second. Works for me haha.
The scary things chosen for the testing of my confidence mettle is applying for two jobs I found online yesterday. The fact I am typing that without cringing, palpitations or wanting to eat my bodyweight in chocolate digestives is, believe it or not, progress. I am obviously a fuckup but you've already worked that out by now. I have had jobs and a couple of them were quite creative and responsible, but it's been a while and let's just say my last job ended car crash fashion in 2009. Ah, 2009, the year of living dangerously. I didn't get sacked or thrown out in disgrace or arrested for fraud, but the ME was bloody awful and employers take a dim view of people who arrive late, leave early and have to nap in the loo to get through a morning's work, even in the civil service.
They pensioned me off in the end so you could say that was that and the ME is better now if not gone and let's move on, shall we? Except now, when I'm feeling half human half the time and would really like a job for the extra cash and intellectual stimulation and social interaction and all the good things that come with jobs, 2009 still haunts me like a bitter vindicative relative. There have been times when even looking at online job sites has been enough to give me panic attacks.
Combine that with moving to the other side of the world where I'm not that sure really how the job market works and you begin to understand that this whole job search malarkey is a big, big deal for me. It says something for how far I've come in the last few weeks that I'm writing about it and not sitting in the corner rocking. Success!!
Of course, I have to still actually apply for these jobs but I'm feeling pretty good about it right now. I can't vouch I'll be the same should I manage to get an interview, but one step at a time.
The clearing out of the clothes today kind of took me by surprise but it's more progress. Fat women and their clothes have a love-hate relationship and by that I mean there are plenty of things that you only wear because nothing else will fit over your arse. You don't like the clothes and going by the way you look in them, they're not too keen on you either. It's easier now that I've lost five stone, but I have made a resolution. I'm never wearing or buying any item of clothing that will just do ever again. Hence the culling of the just dos today.
While I was having my massive clearout, I was listening to an interview with Boy George on 6 Music and in one of those kismet kinds of moments he talked a fair bit about clothes and style. About finding your own groove and letting it evolve with you. I'm pretty big on this whole thing of evolving as a person and expressing it in how you live, including how you dress. Who wants to do or be the same their whole bloody lives? Apart from my whole family and most of the people I went to school with, that is. Why would you want to restrict yourself that way?
I've only just managed to convince the kindest man in the world that David Bowie isn't an opportunist who changes his image for fame, he's an artist and the different personas are part of the artistry. I'm not Bowie by any stretch, but I kind of aspire to evolve my style and my life in a similar way.
Of course, moving to the other side of the world has brought this all into sharper focus for me. It scares the crap out of me at times, but by the same token I'm very conscious that not many people get the opportunity to leave everything behind and completely remake themselves. It's a gift I don't want to waste, which is another reason for the self help malarkey. I've let enough pass me by through fear and self loathing. Enough already. Just bloody enough.
I don't know who Sandy will be this time next year or next decade, but for once, I'm looking forward to finding out.
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