Life In The One Percent

I know, I know...

2011-11-25T22:06:00.005Z

... Wait months for one blog post and then two come along at once.

Today at the office, the problem of me not being able to see my network drive was finally resolved by the IT systems manager. (you see I told you I was crap at computers).

He asked to have access to my computer for all of 10 minutes, and then disappeared back to his office. Five minutes later he returned, and asked me to shut down all my applications. Imagine my surprise when I closed down the last window expecting to see a serene image of the Chinese Kast mountains and found a full screen version of this staring back at me...

Got to love working in IT.

Why bother typing?

2011-11-25T21:20:00.003Z

There are two things that I've had on my big long list of things to do, that I've finally got done.

The first being to set up my free view and TiVo box, and the second being to install Windows 7 on my computer and dictate into my machine using Dragon NaturallySpeaking software.

Setting up the free view box took next to no time and now the TV has a perfect picture. The TiVo box however, has never been much of a godsend. It is about to join the list of things that I have been wishing to sell on eBay which are now sitting in the kitchen and under the threat of being taken straight round to the charity shop.

Despite my fears, it didn't take long to plug the box in (show me a person who loves fiddling about with the wires behind the TV and I will report them to the authorities) however once the box was switched on and running through the guided setup I hit a minor snag.

The phone wouldn't dial.

Without the phone dialling I can't access any channels.

If I can't access any channels, I can't record every episode of "DIY SOS: The Big Build"

I'm screwed.

I fiddled with the Micro filter.

I fiddled with the cables.

I even fiddled with the remote.

I tested that the phone still worked.

And then I had to resort to Google.

The first thing I found on Google, were a few different phone numbers to try which offered a small ray of hope. The second thing I found on Google was the news that my box was now so old that it had been discontinued from service. Oh. Maybe not so encouraging.

I thought I would be heartbroken, but instead I'm slightly numb. Perhaps the shock hasn't yet set in. Or perhaps it has been so long since it worked that I've gone past the point of really caring.

I bought the box in 2005, and three months into using it my house was struck by lightning. And I still had 12 episodes of Roobarb and Custard Two left to watch. It is hard to recover from such a blow.

After finding a replacement box, a friend took both of them to perform the quick task of swapping out the hard drive. Fifteen months later after he had finished renovating his loft, he gave the box back to me. When I finally had the courage to tackle the wires, I discovered that the remote control had stopped working. When I finally located another remote control, it was time to leave my house and the TiVo had to go back in its box and into storage.

Some might say it just wasn't meant to be. Perhaps this is God's way of telling me that I watch way too much TV. Perhaps he doesn't approve of DIY SOS, big build or not.

The installation of Windows 7 onto my computer, however, has been slightly more successful. Probably, mainly due to the fact that it wasn't me that did it. And I work in IT. Shameful.

My Techie friend, Big Alv, came round last night and did the whole lot for me. And all for the price of a turkey casserole. Bargainwill stop

The other thing that he did was to help me install Dragon NaturallySpeaking. After testing out this software, I imagine that it's probably best not to train voice recognition software whilst suffering from a grumbling head cold with a croaky throat.

The other thing that I've discovered, if that even though I have a lot of things to say rattling around my head all the time, when it comes to actually dictating into the machine, the words just simply dry up and disappear.

This cannot be! How can I not be able to speak?

I think the issue lies in actually sitting and dictating rather than wandering round rambling away to myself as I normally do. Because that's when the best ideas come - when I'm off in another world doing something else.

However, apart from a few minor corrections, I've actually managed to dictate this entire blog post barely touching the keyboard. And that's with a croaky throat. Impressed, huh?

and just in time for winter too. If I really get the hang of this I can type up my blog post while sitting on my hands keeping my fingers nice and warm. Result.

Bert the Not-So-Silent Assassin

2011-08-07T14:52:00.003+01:00

I hate cats. I really do. Cats make me itch. Cats make me sneeze. Cats make my eyes swell up so hideously that I have to hide in the house for days. And worst of all, Cats know all this and they seek me out.

Last week I went round to my sisters house whilst she was away, to pick up my printer. It was meant to be a quick trip: open front door, place printer in jumbo Ikea bag, leave house and struggle up to the high street to catch a bus.

Not the case. Bert was home. And he was hungry. And he was lonely. And he made a bee-line for my ankles, so I took pity on him and gave him a bit of fuss, at which point in the space of five minutes he had managed to writhe over just about every square inch of my clothing, sucked on my sleeves, chewed my watch strap, climbed on to the top of my head, chew my ear lobe for comfort (his way of saying Thank You - touching, but very itchy) and ground half a body's worth of cat hair through two layers of clothing.

Poor little Bert. So very cute. Such a tiny little cat. And so lonely whilst Mummy was away for the week. Clearly the neighbour coming round to make a fuss and feed him every day simply wasn't enough, and knowing that my sister would be away for just over three weeks with the same arrangement, I decided to step in.

More. Fool. Me.

The journey to bring him over wasn't too difficult, save for the fact that Bertie turned himself in to a starfish when it came to jamming him in to his pet carrier, and then yowled and mewed all the way up the road and throughout the entire bus journey (which thankfully wasn't very long).

He had a good look round the flat when we arrived, had a bit of a sniff round, had a bit of food, had a scratch on his scratching board, and then alternated between purring on my lap and having another foray in to the kitchen.

When I went to bed he was quite happy, curled up on the couch, no doubt subconsciously growing extra fine cat hairs to shed especially for me.

All was going well. Until 5:30 this morning.

yowl. me-yowl. yowl. meowl. meowl. yowl. yowl. yowl. yowl. yowl.

I buried my head under my pillow and thought "Oh sod off, Bert", grateful that the bedroom door was closed, grateful that I was pretty good at sleeping through anything at 5:30 in the morning.

yowl. yowl. yowl. meyowl. me yowl. yowl. yowl. meow. meow. yowl. yowl.

Crunch.

Crunch? I raised my head from the pillow.

Panic in the streets! Fire in the hole! Bedroom security breached!!

The little git had only shoulder-barged the door. I leaped out of bed, scooping Bert up under his belly and in a single movement catapulted him out of the bedroom door and halfway down the hall like a sinus hand grenade.

You may think this mean, but somehow little Bertie didn't get the hint. Two minutes later: meyowl. yowl. yowl. yowl. yowl.. yowl. yowl. Crunch.

You little f**ker.

Some might argue this point with me, but 5:30 in the morning is absolutely no time to be spiritual. Not with a cat. I jammed the door shut from the inside and ignored his cries for another two hours.

Not that this helped in keeping my bedroom cat hair free. He'd barged his way in to my room when I went out this morning and when I came home was snuggled cosily on one of my pillows. And as I type this from the safety of my blockaded bedroom, he is sitting outside waiting for me. And guess how I know this? Yep, you guessed right.

youwl. yowl. yowl. yowl. meowl. meow. ow. yowl.

Still Chewing That Frog

2011-07-29T18:33:00.003+01:00

Yes, yes, I've been away 'forever'. I've been dying to blog but never finding the right moment. I've been away from the Kabbalah Centre but never truly away from the Kabbalah Centre. Kabbalah has never left me. Sometimes I wish it would.

Sometimes I wish that I didn't know that Cause = Effect, that every action has an equal reaction. Sometimes I wish that in the moment where I am struck down with fear at work, that I don't feel as though an invisible being is scribbling my response in a notebook and shaking his head. Tut, tut, failed once again. Sometimes I wish that I could walk past beggars on the street and not feel truly guilty when I don't put my hand in my purse and find them some change.

As you can see, I am still working on being a little bit easier on myself. All the same, sometimes I have my head in the clouds so much that it begs belief.

I saw a blind person on the platform of the tube the other day and I watched them in wonder. "How amazing they are" I thought. "How admirable that they can find their way around without being able to see. I would never be able to cope in the way that they do, and Beezrat Hashem, I hope I never have to prove that statement"

Whilst I am watching in silent respect, a woman approaches the blind man from the other side and says "Excuse me, would you like some help getting on the train?"

The blind man turns towards her and says "Thank you so much, that's so kind of you to offer help"

And I am left standing there feeling like a right selfish muppet. I just didn't think to ask.

Last night brought a short-lived redemption when I was asked by a woman in a car the direction to Muswell Hill. I gave her directions, remotely proud that I was able to assist. Until she pulled away from the lights and I realised that going straight on instead of turning right would have been a much quicker and more direct route. *sigh*

Anyhow, my latest challenge is my tax return. No, not my tax return for 2010-2011, but the one for the year before.

Being self employed whilst having no real fixed address and no real business to speak of was a bit of a mistake, so it seems. Add crippling depression to that list and you have a recipe for disaster. But somehow I thought that if I stuck my head firmly in the sand, that the tax office would somehow overlook me and I would slide under the radar.

Hmm. How wrong can I be? They caught up with me.

There is something about tax returns and everything financial that makes me a) feel totally sick and b) act completely irresponsibly. With my lack of financial prowess, Long Live P.A.Y.E., I say.

But I couldn't put it off any longer, so I took the day off work to sort out my tax return once and for all, having received the form for the last year and having printed off the one for the year before.

I am going to get this done early in the day, so that it is out of the way, I said to myself, after which I am going to feel a wonderful sense of liberation and relief!!

Yeah, right.

I woke up late and started procrastinating. I had a lazy breakfast. I watched a little bit of TV (because it was a day booked as Holiday, after all). And then I started to go through my email, and came across an article on Procrastination. Touché, Light I said. I read the email. s-l-o-w-l-y... (not that I am in the habit of dragging anything out, of course).

The email contained a link to this rather fabulous little video:

Eat That Frog! Movie: "There's an old saying that says... "If the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is eat a live frog, then nothing worse can happen for the rest of the day!" Do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, whether you want to or not."

Even though it was nearly 2pm, I decided that better late than never, and I started eating that frog. Gingerly. I started nibbling its toes by digging out my paperwork, and gave its rump a good lick calculating all of my income and the dates for the past two years.

And it is nearly 7pm and I have only just completed the self-assessment portion of my first tax return. What a nightmare. This frog tastes like shit. I am reading the handy notes as I go through:

20% writing down allowance

Where you have spent more than £50,000 in a year on equipment, or (on or after 6 April 2009) you have purchased a car with CO2 emissions of 160g/km or less, add all the expenditure together to make a ‘main pool’ of costs. Deduct:

• any Annual Investment Allowance (AIA) up to £50,000 (excluding any cars) that you are including in box 22

• any equipment that qualifies for 10% or 100% allowances

• any items which go into a separate pool.

Add the value of any main pool from the previous year, less the value of any disposals you have made during the year.

You can then claim a writing down allowance (WDA) of 20% of the remaining pool value. For example, if you have spent £70,000 on equipment and have claimed £50,000 of this as AIA, the balance of £20,000 qualifies for a 20% annual allowance of £4,000, which should be included in box 24. The amount remaining in the main pool after the 20% allowance has been deducted should be carried forward to the following year.

Excuse me, but WTF?? Is it possible to get these notes in English? If this is Tax Return 101, then give me The Dummies' Guide instead.

Anyhow, I'm not going to bed until it's done and until I have completed my second bugbear task of changing all of my addresses. It's going to be a late night.

I imagine I shall feel ever so slightly sick from eating too much frog in one day, but who knows, perhaps the after-taste will be worth it.

Virgin on the ridiculous... again

2011-02-28T12:52:00.002Z

So here I am blogging about my Internet service when I was going to blog all about my interview from Friday.

I was going to tell you all about the amazing struggle I had preparing a presentation in PowerPoint even though I had over a week’s notice to prepare and two clear days to write. I was going to mention how at one point I feared for my sanity when, as expected, my head went in to such a mad scramble on the morning of the interview that I was virtually in tears through the inability to think straight.

I could have told you all about how a very good friend of mine watched me plummet from confidence on the subject to an uncontrollable panic attack when the slides wouldn’t come together. And how he smiled when returning to the house on the day of the interview to find a half eaten bread roll sitting on the table, which, he said, put how my stomach was feeling in to a nutshell.

And I was going to mention my outfit nightmares – from the dress that was way too tight (partly because the flap on the skirt was still sown shut at the back and partly because it was a size too small but the only smart thing I had in my wardrobe), to the heels that were too high, and combined with the tight skirt made the journey to the train station feel like I was on some kind of bad trip where the pavements were getting longer.

I might have even mentioned how, just before leaving the house and already running slightly late, I got the loop of my jacket caught in the top of my dress, and nearly passed out trying to free it.

Or how I was in such a desperate state that I begged the Angels to help me to think straight. And how oddly enough, on the train it seemed to work (with adverts for Aussie hair products reminding me of LIGHT-headedness)

And at some point I might have mentioned that on several occasions before the interview I had been visualising sitting with my sister having a drink afterwards, and receiving a call to say that I had got the job. And how, even though I interviewed on the closing date for applications, that is exactly what happened.

It was going to be the show stopper at the end of my piece.

Except that my bloody internet is down.

So after a lot of turning things off and on, rebooting the computer, unplugging the router, I gave Virgin a call and went through their automated menu.

I was initially impressed, because the automated menu does everything to confirm who you are, check your account details and record exactly what part of their service you are having an issue with. I pressed various buttons to confirm that, yes, it was a problem accessing wireless internet, and that yes, I had already unplugged the hub and rebooted my computer. I even pressed numbers on the phone corresponding to my password to confirm my authenticity.

So at this point I kind of expected to go straight through to someone who a) knew who I was and b) was aware of what problem I was experiencing with their service.

Yeah, right.

“Hello can I help you?”

“Yes, I have problems connecting to my Internet”

“Is this a wireless or wired connection, ma’am?”

“Errm…. Wireless, like the button I just pressed in your menu system”

“And what is your account number?”

WTF?? “I would give you my account number if I had access to the Internet, but I don’t. And your menu system has just spent ten minutes confirming who I am, so I was hoping that you would have some information there?”

“Can you then give me your phone number, ma’am?”

*sigh*

The call took a long time. The analyst insisted that I switch off the hub all over again, and reboot my computer (which took forever).

Then he deduced it must be a problem with the hub and asked me if this was the first time I had used the service.

Do they not give their Help Desk staff any information to work with???

Eventually after a series of long pauses which told me that he was completely out of his depth in resolving the issue, he deduced that there was an outage in the area.

No, really? I swear, watching the little globe on my network flash on and off like a f**king Christmas tree light had never given me that impression.

“It will be fixed by 8pm tonight” he said confidently. “I will give you a call to confirm when the service is fixed”. It was ten to eight. First rule of thumb when working on a help desk: don’t make promises that you cannot keep. I thought that it was more likely that he was knocking off work at eight and that therefore he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath.

Anyhow, at this time of writing (8am), the internet is still down and after another call to Virgin it is confirmed that it will be out for the rest of the day.

I can’t wait for the service to be back up again so that I can start responding to all of my emails – specifically that one from Virgin, entitled “We’d love to hear from you!!”

Oh no you wouldn’t. Truly. But you’re going to anyway.

A little bit of history repeating...

2011-02-15T21:16:00.003Z

Oo, I've never liked interviews.

Don't get me wrong - I fully understand the purpose of interviews. The company wants to find the right person for the job. I get that. But can't we all just be a little more friendly about it? I mean, do I have to prove that I am capable as well as funny, chatty and friendly?

It doesn't matter how much I prepare, I never get asked the darned competency-based questions that I was prepared for, and for the life of me I cannot think on the spot. Instead of pausing for a second to find the right answer, or stalling for time by saying "I'm sorry, could you clarify what you mean?" (at which point they say "Yes, Ms Rookie, are you thirsty and would you like some water?") I go completely blank and start talking at the same time. I open my mouth at the start of what I think might be a really good example, and then I keep talking until I make my point or can see the whites of their eyes. Whichever comes sooner.

Anyhow. A few months ago I was contacted - nay - Head Hunted - by a chapI had interviewed with six months before. "It's a much higher level role" he said, "I think it's far more suited to your skills - no technical requirements this time"

I felt excited. And very flattered. "We want to fill the role very quickly" he said, "Can you call me asap for a chat?" I rang. We chatted. It was all very relaxed.

"I haven't "managed" people before" I said, "but I've lead a team"

"Well, we all have to start somewhere" he replied. It all sounded rather promising. And the salary was to die for. I started to daydream about the flat I would rent and the clothes I would buy. And having a fully paid off credit card.

The interview was arranged for the following Monday. "Less of an interview, more of a chat, probably" was the promise "And you haven't met Mark either, and he might have a couple of questions"

I turned up at 5:30 after a full day at work, feeling very ropey. I'd been trying to shake off a rather nasty bug for a couple of weeks and had spent most of the day wanting to sleep under my desk. But that's okay, because this is going to be more of a chat. They've met me already, and I am being Head Hunted. I was relaxed.

Too relaxed, as it turned out. It was the most gruelling interview of my entire life. Mark didn't want to ask a couple of questions. Oh no. Mark wanted to put me through the wringer. After half an hour I wanted the ground to swallow me up as I clawed my way through each unprepared rambling answer. After an hour I wanted to stop the questions and say "You know what, guys, I think that you and I both know that I'm not who you are looking for".

Perhaps they were just giving me 'another chance' to demonstrate my skills. And instead I just dug myself deeper and deeper, finally nailing the lid on the coffin with the answer that I could be available within a week. Like, hello? Yes, they were looking for the role to be filled very soon, but were expecting people to provide at least one month's notice...

*sigh*

I consoled myself with the knowledge that there has to be a reason for this event in my life. Nothing happens without a reason.

The reason has just arrived.

A few weeks ago I was kind of Head Hunted for a role with a company I interviewed for last summer. This role is much more aligned to your skills, my former interviewer said, no technical stuff this time. If you're interested we'd love to see you again.

Yeah, yeah. Thought you would catch me all relaxed, did you?

Yes, Yes, I know..

2011-01-29T22:34:00.006Z

...I've been away for quite some time. In fact, I've been away for so long that I don't even know where to start with my Blog. I mean, so much has changed that I don't even know what to tell you about first.

For all I know, I could start mentioning how my life is going, and you could think I was a complete imposter, hacking in to my blog account and typing merrily away about this totally different life. You could disown me completely and stop 'following' me at all (although, let's face it, it's not exactly strenuous for you to have been 'following' me for the past eight months, given that I have written virtually bugger all, is it? You can hardly blame me for straining your eyes at your computer for longer than is healthy, unless you have been staring out my blog waiting for some letters to magically appear on the screen. Which I doubt).

All the same.

Okay, so where to begin.

Update Number One: I am now working full time, so now I have a reason to be mentally exhausted and have little time for blogging. I know, I should have warned you that you needed to be sitting down to read this blog. It's only nearly four years since I have been in full time work (not long at all, rather scarily). And before all of you hardened full-time daily bloggers give me a pasting for being such a lightweight... well... just.. er.. don't. Please? I have been learning so much for the past few weeks that my little over-active head is just about falling off.

The only thing that I can say about working full time at this very moment is that it is a death knell for the creative process. When, exactly, am I meant to find the time to aimlessly daydream about winning the lottery or earning millions being a motivational guru? I have tried this during my hour-long commute on two buses and one train but found the experience of being jammed under a banker's armpit or being prodded in the back by the sharp corner of a handbag a bit of a distraction. Added to that, when am I meant to watch films or read all of the billions of inspiring newsletters that I signed up to during my days of leisure which flood in to my hotmail account every day? Or even, to that end, read my email? Is that what weekends are for now? Seriously?

Update Number Two: I have to finish up writing this blog because it is nearly 11 o'clock and I know that I will hear the kids at about 6:30 am.

Oh, so now I have your attention?

Told you things had changed.

The most valuable life lesson of all

2010-07-25T10:10:00.004+01:00

Yesterday was my second trip to see Juliana.

I met Juliana about a year ago at a Kabbalah connection. Instantly I fell in love with her energy - she has a serene, gentle loveliness that made me warm to her instantly. She is 51 and from Romania, a very sweet voice and a way of saying things that cannot help but make you smile.

At the time, I was still wrapped up in my head with the whole job situation - flip-flopping between new ideas and fear, confidence and crushing self-defeat. So, no change there then. She was easy to talk to and I opened up a little.

After sharing my woes, Juliana then said very peacefully "I have cancer at the moment. I am about to start a fast for six weeks." She had already had one round of chemo, but the cancer had started to spread from her breast, and under her own thorough investigation, she had found a holistic fast that she could follow.

A couple of months later, I met Juliana again. She told me that the fast had been a success and that the scan results were very good. And so still she continued to heal.

And for a while my thoughts were not on Juliana at all. Then three months ago, I noticed her name creeping to the top of the healing board, and I started to worry.

After a month of wishing to be able to see her again, she arrived for Saturday shabbat. Immediately I went to ask how she was and her eyes clouded up with tears.

"I am in pain." she said "The cancer has now spread to my liver and my lungs and my bones. It is everywhere. There is a lot of pain"

I didn't know what to say. What can you say? I said I was very sorry to hear that she was sick, and moved to sit next to her during the shabbat. Towards the end of the shabbat she leaned over and said "You have to understand, the only reason why I am crying is because of the energy here - it brings out my emotions. It is good to be here. I know that despite the pain, I am healing. I know that the doctor's do not believe I will survive, but I know I will get better"

Her courage and conviction was astonishing. The following week she was at shabbat, still in enormous pain, still smiling. "I went to the hospital the other day because I was so sick" she smiled "The nurses said to me 'You have to stop laughing so much, otherwise the doctors will not believe there is anything wrong with you'"

How she could continue to laugh was beyond me. How little my troubles seemed by comparison.

Two weeks ago, an email was sent from the centre to ask that Juliana be included in our prayers as she was facing "severe health challenges". It also said 'if anyone wants to go and visit or give her a call, contact us so that we can arrange'.

And I didn't. Not immediately. Why? I was afraid of what I might find. I was afraid that she was going to die. I was afraid of not knowing what to say. Of not being any use. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

And then my sister told me of the experience she'd had when she lost her first son, how many people kept their distance because they simply didn't know what to say and were afraid of saying something totally appalling (foot in mouth syndrome), and she said "Just be there. Nothing else matters. It doesn't matter what you say. Just go and visit her"

So I did. And none of my fears were realised.

Juliana had spent a week in bed, in so much pain the she was literally unable to move. So she looked forward to the day when she would be able to get out of bed. And after a week, she could. Two days before I arrived, she only had the strength to sit in her garden for one minute. And on the day I visited we sat in the garden for 6 hours.

Juliana's philosophy is very simple. Live every moment in Joy. Have peace within yourself at every moment and dismiss every negative thought. When you are having a really bad day or a really bad moment, change it as soon as you can to doing something that you love, to bring about that feeling of joy.

She advised me not to even bother applying for any jobs or contacting any agencies unless I was in a state of joy. And if I couldn't find that state of joy, then I should find something to do that helped me to find it, without any guilt. She told me to spend two or three hours taking action, and then to go out and connect with joy, and share - to generate the right vibration to attract what is already mine.

She explained her own view on the Law of Attraction.

"Imagine," she said "you have two children. One comes up to you in a temper tantrum, wailing and crying and tugging at your clothes - 'I WANT A SWEET!! GIVE ME A SWEET!! PLEASE I WANT A SWEET NOW! I NEED A SWEET!!'. And the second child comes up to you with a look of joy on their face "Please may I have a sweet? I would so love to have a sweet! I look forward to having a sweet! Thank you!" Which one are you going to give the sweet to? The first child you would probably want to beat with a stick (haven't we all 'wanted' to do that at some point? Please note: I am not condoning the beating of small children with sticks) but the second one you would take delight in giving them a sweet because they asked so nicely. This is the way that God sees our requests.

"The second thing is, that you have to know that God already has the sweet for you"

I went to visit Juliana for a second time yesterday, and once again left feeling that she had given me more that I could possibly have given her. She is still absolutely certain that she is healing. She is still talking about three years from now, five years from now, ten years from now. She is still astounding the doctors. When her son took her to visit last week, they were astonished that she was walking. The doctor said to her son "Your mother is very, very sick. But she seems to be doing some really weird things which are making her really well".

I know that I am going to be friends with her for a very long time to come.

Life is a game. It operates on two levels - the physical world that we can see, and the metaphysical world that we cannot. The physical world feels real, but it is illusion - everything depends on how you look at it, everything depends on choosing how you want to see it. Every choice is free will.

Or as Juliana reminds herself with every challenge "This is not the truth. This is just what I believe"

So, the agency wouldn't put me forward for the job that I would have to commit to for 3 months. A bad thing, right? I only want to work. I am prepared to do anything. Maybe the girls at the agency were intimidated by me. Or maybe they didn't like my £5 Primark patent plastic shoes. Or maybe all of the agencies are conspiring against me to find work. Or maybe "God" is punishing me for being so negative for so long.

Or maybe, just maybe, something better is coming.

And I look forward with Joy, to that. I'll keep you posted.

Flip Flopping between Hope and Despair

2010-07-23T15:05:00.002+01:00

It's a funny thing, life.

And then some days it's just not so funny.

My living situation seems to get worse and worse. My finances are almost at an end, and by that I mean that my only credit card is virtually chocka, and my overdraft is within a whisker of being exceeded. I receive £65 a week in job seekers allowance, and this has to pay for rent, food, my credit card bill, mobile phone, contact lenses.

You see how the sums are not quite adding up here?

And I do want to work - more than anything. But I think I missed out on the job-finding gene. I just don't know how to find work. Everyone seems to be recruiting online. You want a job on a supermarket checkout? Visit the website. And just how does one get a job sweeping the streets nowadays? Apply through the council website.

I'm not setting my sights too high or placing myself out of the market, but my CV is an IT CV. It doesn't say 'shop assistant' or 'administration clerk'.

I signed up with a temping agency for administration contracts - they were happy to help me out. I got two days work, and as for the rest? Well, things are a bit quiet over the summer months, apparently. They will pick up in September again. I've rung them twice today and they haven't called back.

So I tried to sign up with another couple of agencies. Both of them refused to take me on because I had an IT CV. One of them suggested a 3 month contract but then declined on putting my CV forwards to the company because the company wanted assurance that I would stay for the whole contract, and looking at my CV would no doubt decide that I was likely to be offered something else in the meantime.

Okay, so that hasn't happened in the last 3 years, but hey, nice to know I'm considered to be in demand.

So the panic has started to set in, and with the panic comes regular bouts of stress-induced illness and a complete inability to speak to anybody. Which isn't really conducive to a successful job hunt. Because what I want to say is "Please, I'm on my knees here - just give me a fucking job" which isn't really the best way to get an interview.

So I bottle it all up, and I 'cope'. Except that a close friend recently told me "You might be bottling things up, but you're not coping. And you're just not willing to show people that you're not coping". She's right. I'm not actually coping any more, and putting on a brave face is becoming harder every day.

There are a few sad things that I find about being in this situation.

First, nobody is just going to turn up and give me a job without me taking any action. And I am taking action, but just not enough. One negative conversation and I am back on the floor again.

Second, you only attract things to you by being on the right vibrational frequency. Feeling the joy of the job that is waiting to come towards me is getting harder by the day, as the pain of my current situation grows.

Lastly, that I am so unhappy with what I am not, that I am losing sight of who I am, what I have, and how lucky I am.

I am not dying of cancer.

I am not living on the streets.

I have clean water to drink.

My life could be a whole lot worse. And how wonderful it will feel when it just gets a little bit better.

The World Cup, Paul and the New Moon

2010-07-12T16:02:00.003+01:00

So Spain won the World Cup.

I could have told you that. You mean you didn't believe the great Kabbalistic Paul the Octopus? Or perhaps you didn't care. Whatever.

Anyhow. The odd thing about the World Cup was that the first day coincided with the New Moon of Cancer - 11th June. And the World Cup final coincided with the New Moon of Leo.

The New Moons at the Kabbalah Centre always have a theme in line with the energy of the coming month, just to get us all in the mood. But because the New Moon of Cancer fell on the opening day of the World Cup, they held a football theme. And because the New Moon of Cancer also fell on a Friday night - shabbat - instead of having the usual buffet snacks, we had a full shabbat dinner.

Each of the tables in the dining room were allocated the nationality of a world cup team, indicated by the nation's flag.

Halfway through the meal, we played a game. Each table had to nominate a captain. Each round consisted of a single question, with the answer being either A or B - some related to football, some to Kabbalah, and some were more general knowledge. The captain would confer with their table and would either remain standing if the answer was A, or sit down if the answer was B.

Those who got the answer wrong and who were either standing up or sitting down when they shouldn't be, were eliminated at the end of each round. After a promising start when it appeared as though we would all win the world cup (hurrah! Unity!), gradually the numbers started to dwindle.

Our table were knocked out two questions before the end, after incorrectly guessing that there had been 5 versions of the iPod Nano (there had been 6).

In the final round it was down to two teams, and the round was a sudden-death question for the captains, with no conferring.

And the winner? Why, Spain, of course.

And my table? Germany. Oops. Sorry.

Serendipity

2010-07-11T22:55:00.005+01:00

Yes, yes, I know, I've been away from my blog for so long - part sorting my life out and part due to having nothing much that I actually wanted to say (for once).

I mean, how many times can you play the 'Woe is me, my life just gets worse and worse' card and expect to get away with it?

But now I have something to write about. Actually, I have two things to write about, but this one has to come first.

You may remember that I have the boredom threshold of a three year old child on a long car journey and as such, I find it a challenge to meditate. In fact, it is fair to say, that getting through ten seconds of meditation without thinking of something that I need to add to my shopping list, a conversation I had earlier in the day and an email that I really need to send (yes, all three) is nigh on impossible.

Monkey Mind In Extremis. Hey Ho.

So whenever I am browsing through my email and see a free download for a guided meditation, I sign up to whatever newsletter they wish to send me, and download the file.

On Wednesday I was promised complete relaxation in 3 minutes. For free. So I signed up, and downloaded.

The file was okay - it had some effect at least. I mean, I still had several conversations going on at once (whoever said that the sign of Gemini was twins was grossly underestimating) but I was chilled enough not to be bitter about it.

And along with the free download was a free chapter of a book. So, in my nicely 3-minute-chilled state, I decided to have a read.

The chapter of the book was about reading through the palm of your hand. No, really. It explained how you could 'see' pages of a book that you have never read before and gave a technique to try it. It gave a few examples of success stories, and also explained that if you don't see what you were expecting, to check the pages either side. It then told a little side story of a woman who was out walking and pondering what the definition of Serendipity was. She passed a bookstore, walked inside, picked the first book she came to, and opened it to find a definition of Serendipity.

Well, of course she did. These things happen all the time.

Anyhow, I was curious to see if it would work for me (wondering if the Universe could get past my Monkey Mind) and searched my bookshelf for a book that I hadn't read before.

I came across 'Know Me, Like Me, Follow Me' by Penny Power. No doubt this book would be all about networking, email marketing, business profiles, etc. But really I had no idea.

So I sat with the book on my lap and followed the steps:

Hold your dominant hand 6 - 10 inches away from the book, and close your eyes. This bit is easy.
Focus your energy on the point a couple of inches below your navel - the Dan Tien. Yep, got it.
Allow that energy to travel up your spine, in to your throat, then down your arm and out through your hand in to the book. Hmm, okay... but I still don't see how...
Feel the exchange of energy with the book. Is this really an 'exchange of energy'? Is this what I am meant to be feeling or did I just rush the last bit?
Ask for a page number. SIXTY THREE. F**k me, where did that come from? No need to shout. Okay, 63 it is.
Imagine the layout of the page - what does it look like? Oookaaaaayyyy.... so the only page I can imagine is a bold title across the top, then a top paragraph, and then the rest is text. Maybe I am rushing this. Does it have a picture? No, I don't see a picture. What do you mean, you don't see a picture? You're not seeing anything - you've got your eyes closed, you muppet. Look, just shut up and let me get on with this, okay? This is the only page I can see. Yeah, well, whatever. Just you wait until you open the page. It's bound to have a picture.
Ask for the subject of the page - what is it about? What words can you see? Serendipity. Oh, of course it's not Serendipity. Gee, I wonder where you got that one from. Okay, pick something else. I can't think of anything else. Yes, but it won't be fucking Serendipity, will it? You've just read a story about Serendipity - that's the only reason you've thought about that word. Okay then, I can see the word 'chance' in the middle of the page. Oh yeah, because 'chance' is really different. Oh look, just leave me alone, okay? This is all that I'm getting and yes, I do know that in about 10 second's time I am going to be bitterly disappointed so just get off my case.
Open the book to the page you thought of, and prepare to be astounded. Yeah, astounded at how wrong you can be...

So, where was I? Oh yes, page 63, a bold title, a floating paragraph, followed by a block of text, something about Serendipity, and the word 'chance'.

I opened the book. My jaw dropped. And then me and my Monkey Mind laughed for a good ten minutes.

Scroll down and judge for yourself.....

SERENDIPITY

Serendipity is the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely.

A brilliantly worded explanation on Wikipedia.

When you are not looking for the answer you will discover what you need to know. Get your head around that thought! One of the toughest ideas I have to teach when explaining the power of social networks and social media is the power of serendipity.

This phrase sounds spiritual and deep, and is hard for task-oriented people to get their head around. However, we are learning that the random nature of social media is what creates success for all those that take part.

Let's just explore this further but using the offline world. We know that the more people we meet, the more we 'get ourselves out there', and the more we create a brand tht others respect and know, the higher the chance of success. My most recent experience of this was when I decided I would like to write this book.........

Errr.... Surprise?

2010-06-20T16:55:00.004+01:00

What's the saying? The best laid plans of mice and men....

Last week I received a Top Secret email. Oo. Curious.

Unbeknownst to me, my teacher at the Kabbalah Centre was an avid cyclist, spending hours on Sundays out on his bike, notching up the kilometres. Until he had his bike stolen.

Let's just say that he was absolutely gutted, but being the guy that he is, didn't moan about it to a single person.

Of course, nothing stays secret for long in the One Percent, and one of his students heard of his plight and wanted to help out, hence the Top Secret email.

The plan was to ask around his students as quietly as possible, get the funds for a new bike and give it to him as an early birthday present.

Oo I just LOVE secrets! Not even the Chevre at the centre knew about it. It was secret, secret, double secret!!I In fact, it was so secret, that I started to panic about being struck with Secret Tourettes whenever I was around the centre, fearing that suddenly I would shout his name and "BICYCLE! SECRET EARLY BIRTHDAY SURPRISE!!!!!" at the top of my voice in the middle of shabbat. It was one of those secrets that I was so excited about that if I'd have grinned any more, the top of my head would have fallen off.

I was also sorely tempted to start talking about how much I liked cycling whilst he was within earshot ("Isn't it just the best way to get around? Wind in your hair, whipping through the traffic...."), or to tell him I had just bought a bike and wondered what was the best bike insurance...

Within the space of a week, the funds had been gathered, which gives you an idea of the admiration that his students have for him, and messages were written in a card.

The next part of the plan was to actually present the card to him, with minimal fuss. The guy who arranged the collection said that the best time would be 9:30 am Sunday (today) after morning minyan. And it would be great if we could be there.

So the trick was, how to show up at the centre at the end of a men's connection, and be there for the presentation, without arousing any suspicion. Hmm, tricky. I had never been to the centre on a Sunday and had no reason to just drop in. A thousand What If's raced through my overactive mind. What if I totally blow the surprise? being one of them. I cannot lie for toffee. Plus, I was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

I agreed to meet a friend outside of the centre at 9:30am, in the knowledge that in Kabbalah Time (where all events start at least half an hour later if not more), the presentation would take place no earlier than 9:45. And if I showed up with my friend, then I knew that she would find a reason to be hanging around in the bookstore for no apparent reason whatsoever.

She was late. Not only that, but by the time I arrived, I could already see the men leaving the centre. So now what do I do? I rang my friend. "Go in!" she urged "I'll be there in two minutes! They might be doing the presentation now! Go in!"

The door was locked, but another of my teacher's students - also hanging around in the bookstore for no apparent reason whatsoever - opened the door and let me in. It appeared that prayers were still going on. Or at least, something was still going on.

My friend arrived seconds later and we hovered excitedly in the bookstore, waiting to be called, not wanting to be seen.

So it was a slight surprise to us when our teacher walked through the bookstore on his way out, wheeling a bike.

I could literally feel all of us silently screaming "WTF?!!" whilst straining to look totally normal.

"Hello ladies" he said, looking slightly bemused "Why are you here? Are you flyering?"

"Err. Yes.. Yes.. No.. Zohar Project" we all gabbled, nodding frantically at each other for support. Well, that was natural. Not.

"Ah, okay. So do you need me for anything?" he asked.

"No, no! we're fine!" we all chimed together.

He said goodbye and left, leaving us partway between hysterics and total confusion. What? So did he have the presentation or not? Had he received the card? What was with the bike? Was that his bike? What was going on? The guy who had invited us to the presentation was nowhere in sight.

One of the other teachers appeared. Did he know what had gone on? We tiptoed around the subject and found that he had overheard little bits of conversation and had an idea what was going on. And before we could stop him, he said "I'll call him, hang on" and then in horror heard him say "Hi. Yes, did you know you have your students here to give you an early birthday surprise? Yes, they are here now! Waiting for you". Noooo! Noo Noo Noo!!!! We waved our arms frantically, but it was too late.

Oh blimey, were we going to blow all of this and ruin this Top Top Secret Surprise?

Well, apparently not. The presentation had been given at 9:25 just before we had all arrived. And the surprise was so great that he was simply in shock. I don't even think he had registered the names on the card and put two and two together when he saw us. And the bike? An old one that he had borrowed.

So. Mission Accomplished. Secret maintained, teacher blown away by surprise gift, Kabbalah Time wins again.

I think it might take a while to recover from the sight of him walking through the bookstore pushing a bike.

Penny Power - Know Me, Like Me, Follow Me

2010-06-04T10:06:00.006+01:00

Only 1 2 3 4 5 6!! more Big Sleeps until my Birthday. Hey Ho. It's strange that I have reached an age where I no longer want to celebrate.

Hey!! I will get a lot of presents!! woo hoo!! *sigh* Seems a little bit ridiculous when I have just sold most of my belongings. Although I did receive a very beautiful gift the other day but have nowhere to hang it in my current abode. Perhaps when I turn the big 4-0 I will magically become more patient, too. My Dad worried me the other day by asking me what I wanted for my birthday and then saying "Too Late! We've already bought it!" Oh fab. It's either going to be amazing or truly useless - I guess the excitement is in not knowing which!

Hey!! I will get some money to go out and buy something special to commemorate this turning of age!! Woo hoo!! *sigh* Except that also seems a little bit ridiculous (I was thinking a nice piece of jewellery) considering that I cannot afford to pay my rent. Maybe I'll just have to write an I.O.Me and come back to that one later when my finances are looking more rosy.

I guess I was hoping that by the time I reached 40, I would have something more to celebrate than just reaching a certain milestone.

Anyhow, I digress. Last night I decided to turn up to one of Nick Williams "Inspired Entrepreneurs" social gatherings, as Penny Power, the founder of ecademy, was a guest speaker.

I have been a free member of ecademy for the length of time that I have been unemployed, and as it is aimed at small business support I didn't feel that it was really my forum. I receive the newsletters every day, and retained my membership knowing that if ever I did get a business up and running then it would be an excellent place to dabble.

My impression of Penny Power was that she would be very business-like and serious. A real ambition freak. I don't know where I got that impression from. Perhaps her success in business simply intimidated me.

She started to talk. The first thing that she did was to thank Nick Williams for buying each of his attendees a copy of her book "Know Me, Like Me, Follow Me". Then she started to explain that her purpose in life was to serve.

I hadn't expected her to use that word.

As she continued to talk, sharing pieces of her own history (like when her husband Thomas, and herself, were fired from ecademy at the time of the dot com crash, and lost their dream home) I really began to like her.

Yes, the fact that she was earning 100,000 a year when she was 23 still puts her in a different league, but what a warm and caring woman. And funny. Very funny. In fact, after ten minutes of her sense of humour, I knew that she would be one person I could spend a lot of time with.

She also made a couple of great points.

when you look at all of the roles you play in life - in her instance, mother, daughter, sister, wife, founder, author, speaker, etc, etc - remember that they can all be boiled down in to one: Friend.
Social networking is no different online than in traditional business: People buy from the people they like. If they can get to know you, and like you, they will buy from you. So be open, and be authentic. Let people get to know you.

As usual, I wasn't part of the crowd dashing to have my book signed during the break and to have a quick chat. I figured that the people who actually owned businesses would benefit from her time more than I would. But as she was walking out of the door, I stopped her and expressed my surprise to her, that I didn't expect her to be this way at all. A compliment where compliments are due.

Her response was simple. She laughed and said "It is so much easier just to be yourself"

Well, Amen to that.

A day of Learning

2010-06-02T16:34:00.002+01:00

Or should that be a lifetime.

You know that you need to pay more attention to the job-hunting process when you save a modified version of your CV after 45 minutes of editing, only to find that you applied for exactly the same job 6 days earlier.

You know that when trying to arrange payment for some work which the client was hoping to get for free, hearing "I'll speak to the customer and see what they say" isn't a good thing.

You realise that you ought to get a bit more familiar with the latest web application versions, when you don't realise immediately that WWE is not a web application, but instead stands for World Wrestling Entertainment.

You know that when you hear your Kabbalah teacher of 8 months say that he no longer knows how to help you, you're either very close to a breakthrough or totally screwed.

You know that on the last 30 seconds of "60 Minute Makeover" the screen will be filled with five people in every room plumping dozens of cushions and nudging colour coordinated vases two millimetres to the left, alongside one person still putting up wallpaper.

You know that half an hour after the film crew have left, taking all of the throw cushions and vases, the beneficiaries of "60 Minute Makeover" are going to have to work out where to put the seven boxes of kids toys, their entire collection of books and half of their clothes, now that two of the wardrobes have gone and storage space has been ripped out and replaced with something more 'aesthetically pleasing'.

You know that you really need to take more care of your bikini line when you say to the nurse during a smear test "Apologies for the state of my bikini line" and she doesn't reply "Believe me, I have seen much worse."

You know that you miss your sister when the nurse tells you to relax completely and think of somewhere sunny, and you immediately think of being on holiday with your sister on the same beach in Barbados, drinking nice little cocktails with umbrellas.

You know that it's not such a good thing when one experienced nurse cannot find your cervix and calls in a second nurse for assistance.

You know that it's even worse when the second nurse cannot find your cervix either and says "That's the best I can do" after ten minutes of twisting and rotating a speculum firmly against the walls of your bladder.

You know that it's a good thing when you don't wee even just a little bit throughout all of this poking and prodding.

You realise you will soon be turning 40 when you tell someone your date of birth and they say "Oh! Only 8 more Big Sleeps!"

The Big Personality Test Results

2010-05-31T13:28:00.002+01:00

The rest of the British public had finished filling in their forms on the BBC Website for the Big Personality Test, so I decided to have a go. The outcome surprised me a little. Well, part of it.

I scored High in three areas, and Low in two.

Openness - High

Describes to what extent you are open to novel ideas, creative experiences and different values. I guess dancing around a washing up bowl of water at 3am and whacking 5 willow twigs in to the dirt at 5am might count as some of the above, both of which I encountered with a sense of fun. I like new things. My mother always said I was a bit different. All I need to do now is to translate that sense of openness to a working world, where new tasks and projects still (internally) catch me like a rabbit caught in headlights.

Extroversion - Low

Describes to what extent you are inclined to experience positive emotions and how attracted you are to social, stimulating experiences.

Hmm... define 'social stimulating experiences'. Sounds a bit dicey to me.

I guess I can agree with the first part of the statement - I have to work at being 'glass half full'.

Apparently introverted people aren't shy, and I'm not. I have always been the type of person who can amuse herself for hours. You name it - Lego, Playpeople, reading, colouring in. Who wants to take turns when there is only one bike? And share sweets? Forget it. My pocket money, my sweets. Buy your own. I have never needed a crowd of people to keep me occupied (which is what this is all about) and spend a lot of time on my own. Way too much time.

Wow - no wonder I have bob-all. If the laws of the Universe and 'what you give you get back' are anything to go by, then this simple test explains a lot...

Agreeableness - High

Describes to what extent you are concerned about the feelings of others and how easily you form bonds with people.

I thought that agreeableness was a good thing - getting along with others. Apparently not. High agreeableness = people pleaser = doormat.

No wonder I didn't want to play with other kids or share my sweets.

Okay, so list of things to do (so far):

Spend more time with other people.
If you can't afford to take a bottle of wine, take a nice pack of biscuits.
Take biscuits out of handbag when you arrive rather than thinking that your friends look like they are putting on weight and would be better off without them.
If someone offers you some work 'without pay but it would be good experience for you' tell them to stick it where the Light doesn't shine. Politely, of course.

Neuroticism - High

Describes to what extent you react to perceived threats and stressful situations.

See 'Rabbit caught in headlights' above.

Apparently being neurotic isn't such a bad thing - in fact, if it is combined with a Conscientiousness rating of High then it can make for a successful career.

Conscientiousness - Low

Describes to what extent you are organised, strategic and forward-planning.

Oh. Surely this should be High. I am organised. Kind of. Or should that be a bit OCD?

I've always known where I am heading. Hmmm... then again, let's rethink that. No, I haven't. I've been wandering round in the flowery maze in my head since the day I was born. Avoiding all people and keeping my sweets to myself, thank you very much. The other thing about conscientious people is that they get things done. They finish what they

The Eyes Have It

2010-05-30T22:44:00.004+01:00

So, like any other introspective and somewhat anal human being, I watched Child Of Our Time, the Big Personality Test tonight.

In advance of the series, the BBC were running a Personality Test on their website, and the results are already available for the UK. And given that the Big Personality Online Test is currently unavailable due to high demand now that the program has finished, I figure that there are a lot more people out there in the UK pondering where they fit in.

The tests measured 5 attributes of personality, namely Openness, Conscientiousness, Extroversion, Agreeableness and Neuroticism. Can you guess where I would score high? Go on, I bet you can't. Anyhow, all will be revealed when the fellow web-dwellers of the nation hurry up and finish their tests so that I can have a go.

Whilst I was waiting, I decided to search for a test they had mentioned. Buggered if I can remember what attribute it was testing for, but it was created by Ali G's dad, Professor Simon Baron-Cohen.

The test is to see whether you can accurately read a person's emotion just by looking at a picture of their eyes. And I was pleasantly surprised, because I scored 30 out of 36.

What perturbed me were the ones I got wrong....

Men's eyes being friendly.

Men's eyes being caring.

Men's eyes being interested.

There's a link there, somehow, to my single status, perhaps.

And further evidence to my personality being conscientious to the point of dangerous perfectionism (I so wanted to get every single question right).

It's fun. It takes ten minutes. Have a go and see how you get on. But don't send me a photo of the reaction to your results, because there's one chance in six I won't be able to guess...

Mind in the Eyes Test

Car Boot Take II - careful what you wish for

2010-05-24T18:17:00.003+01:00

My last car boot sale, back in early December 2009, was a highly profitable affair. I had 15 boxes of crap (I mean, high quality goods) to sell, including my life's collection of CDs, two socket sets, a genuine 1977 Donald Duck marionette puppet, boxes of books, heaps of tatty handbags and backpacks, roller blades and a pair of blue snorkelling fins, size 6.

I came home with 10 boxes filled with half of the CDs, most of the books, most of the handbags, the roller blades, the fins... and £165 in my pocket. So something must have sold.

And I was sure that I would have sold more if it hadn't completely pissed down with rain all day. It rained heavily from start to finish, bar one hour around lunchtime where it decided to give us a break with some light drizzle.

Before I moved house I went through the car boot boxes again, and gave several boxes full of naff items away to charity. I also sold the rest of my CDs as a job lot for £80, which is not to be sniffed at. My friend then gave me a couple of boxes of DVDs, some silk scarves and pashminas, and a box of travel books.

All I needed was a nice sunny day and a second car boot sale, and I would be quids in. Sure as eggs are eggs. And this weekend, that ideal opportunity arrived.

When my Dad and I set off for a local (and rather huge and promising) car boot sale, I had six boxes of high quality goods. They were bound to sell. The weather forecast was looking good. I was on to a winner.

5 hours later found me packing 5 boxes back in to the car, having made a total profit of £35.

Why? It was too bloody hot.

All of the punters had gone to the seaside, or were sitting under trees in their back gardens, lighting barbecues and drinking Pimms. Or burning to a crisp in the sun and getting trolleyed on cheap lager. Or whatever it is that people wearing "I'm drunk but your still ugly" T-shirts do when they are not at a car boot sale (my still ugly what, precisely? I am perplexed that they didn't seem to finish printing this garment...)

There were rows and rows of traders, all baking in the sun or selling from the relative shade of their car seats, occasionally meandering up to the nearby ice-cream van across earth that was too parched to dig a jumbo umbrella in to without dying from dehydration. The few people who had turned up to have a browse seemed to be far too wilted to reach in to their pockets for a little bit of small change, and far too limp to carry a DVD 100 metres back to the car.

I've seen more life in a beige rug, to be honest.

Later that evening, 4 of the boxes were dropped off at a local charity, to see if they would have any better luck. One of the boxes contains items that for reasons unknown to me, I am loathe to give away without just one more try at getting some cash for them.

It wasn't all bad, though. For one thing, I now have heaps of small change. For another, the roller blades, the spider catcher and the dust buster have finally gone. And I did put a smile on the faces of the people I pushed to reluctantly haggle with me, when I accepted the first offer they made. Oh, and best of all, I timed my visit to the ice-cream van perfectly - 5 minutes before he left - thus preventing the day from being a total disaster.

In any event, even a job with minimum wage is going to make me feel like a millionaire in comparison to what I brought home.

Yes, okay, I get the hint. If I want to earn money, I need to go out and get a bloody job....

What's with the Conversations About God?

2010-05-21T19:36:00.003+01:00

Perhaps this is a sign from the Universe for me to stop talking about the Light and miracles and spiritual holidays and energy, and start doing as a means of actually manifesting something for a change, but over the last couple of days people have wanted to talk to me about God.

I was walking to the station on Wednesday, and bumped in to a chap who I think lives in the flat opposite. I say I think because people's faces never stick. But I know I have said hello to him at some point not so long ago. At least, I think it was him.

Anyhow, he stopped me in the street and said "Hello again, I'd really like to have your phone number"

There's nothing like the direct approach, I guess, but I don't really like giving out my phone number to virtual strangers.

I hesitated, so he continued "I'd really like to spend some time with you and talk to you about God".

Oh, okay, not exactly the best chat up line. I made a hasty exit with the excuse that I had to dash and would probably see him around.

Or maybe hopefully not.

Then yesterday the door intercom beeped and I answered it. It was the Jehovah's Witness who had caught me on the doorstep a few weeks ago. Now, what was her name? Tania? Delia? Lobelia? Can't remember.

"Hello, is that Natasha?"

Errr... noooo... there is no Natasha here...

"I came to speak to you a little while ago. I would love to talk to you about all of your Kabbalistic things"

Hmm... I thought about letting her in, but decided that I didn't want to spend the next half hour having someone try to convert my beliefs under the pretence of being interested in them. I am under no illusion that it would be a tall order to convert a JW. She is a lovely lady, but if anything, all that we have in common may be a terrible memory for names.

I'm not in the mood for converting anyone, as it happens. Love Thy Neighbour. Whoever they may be. But when you have job applications to complete, perhaps long meanderings on Theology and Philosophy are really not a priority.

I wonder who will be next....?

A Hairy Challenge

2010-05-14T17:41:00.003+01:00

Last night was the New Moon of Gemini.

I know, I know - this is all a little bit early, but in the Kabbalistic calendar we have already moved from lumbering, earth bound Taurus to flitty, flighty, up-in-the-air Gemini.

Now, I'm not saying that it is difficult for Gemini's to finish what they start, but since opening this blog post I've already changed my mind three times on what I want to write. And then I thought I might go and get something to eat, but I couldn't decide what, and then I listened to a bit of music and...

Where was I? Oh yes, beards.

It is beard season at the Kabbalah centre. Not a place that a pogonophobe would choose to be. Facial hair, by all accounts, (and maybe even other hair - I hadn't even thought about other hair) stores negativity. And so during the negative periods such as The Counting of the Omer, the men grow their beards as a form of protection. A kind of hairy shield, if you will.

Personally I would consider any beard as a shield that will keep them safe from women. Or at least, keep them safe from me. You never know what could be lurking in a beard. I like to keep a safe distance just in case.

Anyhow, I digress. Again.

What fascinates me are the variety of beards being grown at the centre and how they change the general appearance of the owner of said beard. We have full, thick, chunky beards, wispy beards, patchy beards, beards a totally different colour from head hair, beards that you could lose an arm in, and beards that you couldn't run barefoot through.

There are beard owners who have had beards before and seem at ease with their facial hair, deftly curling their moustaches out of the way of their top lip before they eat. And there are beard owners driven half crazy by their facial hair, scratching and rubbing away in discomfort.

The variety of beards is endless, and it reminded me of a conversation I overheard between two men when I worked at GSK. One of them was baby-faced and smooth skinned, the other had a defined five o'clock shadow by 10:30 every morning and was known to have grown a substantial beard during a single IT migration weekend.

"This is really amazing" said Babyface "I can't believe all of the stubble that you have at this time of day. I can leave my face for ages without shaving. You and I should get together some time and have a proper beard growing competition"

"Great idea" says the second guy "What are you doing Tuesday lunchtime?"

The Light is all around

2010-05-12T12:43:00.004+01:00

I believe that we are surrounded at all times by the energy of the Universe. Call it what you will - some refer to it as the Law of Attraction, others manifest using NLP techniques, others will call it God.

Most of the time this is outside of our awareness. Unless we do something radical to open up our perceptions, the majority of the day we spend being limited by our five senses. By believing that only what we see or hear is all that is. Or at least, that's how it is most days for me. Even after studying Kabbalah for nearly two years and seeing so many minor miracles and 'coincidences', I still forget. I'm still wrapped up in my head, believing that I have to solve everything on my own.

This Saturday at shabbat, somebody I had never seen before stepped up to give the lecture and rather than focusing on events from the Torah, he told a personal story. A story that had such an effect on me that I would like to share. I'm not really sure that I can do the story justice.

The man is from the LA centre, and has been teaching Kabbalah for 20 years. He knows that the Light exists. He teaches his students that the Light exists. But still, like anybody else, his day is filled with seeing the One Percent Reality of day to day life.

Three weeks ago he was struck down with stomach flu and was in a lot of pain. He was unable to eat or drink, but expecting it to last no more than a couple of days, he decided to ride it out. On the fourth day, he was still in an awful lot of pain, but he was able to drink. And so he drank - copious amounts of water to flush the bug from his system. There was only one problem with this - he discovered that he couldn't pass water. And so his bladder began to fill. And still he couldn't pee.

By the fifth day, he was in excruciating pain. He still couldn't pee, still had pain in his stomach, felt as though his bladder was on the verge of exploding. The slightest movement was agony. His wife called an ambulance.

Throughout this time, he said, he had been praying. But as with most of us when in a difficult situation, we still have hope that there is something else that we can do. If you pray without total surrender, your prayers are heard but not answered. For as long as you think that you can possibly find a solution - that you are bigger than God - you prevent God from helping you.

Even in the ambulance, whilst he was praying through this extraordinary pain, he still thought 'it's going to be okay, because I only have to last another ten minutes, we will get to the hospital and they can free up my bladder and the pain will be over'. No need for any divine intervention.

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, he was expecting to be swept straight in to a cubicle, but instead they stopped him in the entrance and said "Can I take your name, please?"

'What?!' he cried 'Can you not see that I am about to explode? I need treatment! Please help me!!'

Not, apparently, until he had filled out a form.

And this is the point when he really started to pray.

With his bladder relieved, he was still in pain and it was discovered that his appendix was about to burst, so they took him in for surgery. A couple of days after this he was still in the hospital in a very weak state and unable to attend shabbat for the Torah reading.

He was humbled when the Torah reading was brought to his bedside by Yehuda Berg, and surprised that as Yehuda started to read from the Torah, something was different. Yes, he looked like Yehuda, and he sounded like Yehuda, but there was something about his voice which indicated that something else was present. Something else was coming through. Something he had never experienced before.

The portion of the Torah that week related to the Lepers being healed by the High Priests. And every time Yehuda read "and the Kohanim healed the Leper" he felt something shifting inside, as though something was being removed. Three quarters of the way through the reading, he started to vomit so violently that Yehuda had to leave the room.

By the time the reading was complete, he was in such a weakened state that he could barely speak. He tried to apologise for the state he was in, and Yehuda waved his hand as if to say 'don't worry about it, it's okay'

And at this point, he said that he saw a Light coming through Yehuda, and a look in his eyes of the most unconditional love that you could imagine - the purest form of love, with no judgement attached - something that he had never witnessed before. Something that he could only now access after going through so much pain. A connection with God. A connection to what he had been believing for so many years but had never seen for himself.

The most poignant part of the story is that as the pain subsided and he began to regain his strength, so the ability to feel this pure unconditional love started to fade. He said that he didn't want the pain back, but at the same time, he did, because he longed to hold on to the strength of the love he had felt.

There wasn't a dry eye in the house.

Yesterday I was contacted by an agency with a job role for a high end fashion company with a dodgy beige tartan design coveted by 90% of chavs. I looked at the job spec and turned it down. 'Too technical', I said, too 'infrastructure'. And that was true, but in the back of my mind I was more cringing at the thought of turning up for an interview wearing a skirt from Warehouse and a jacket from Wallis, or bumping in to a Fashionista with perfect skin and five inch heels, whilst wearing a coat from T.K.Maxx.

Plus I was waiting for contact from another agent with a role that I wanted more, albeit temporary. Which was obviously bound to come up.

This morning I had heard nothing. It felt as though nothing was happening, that I was alone in my efforts, responsible for making things happen. And then I remembered the story from Saturday, and reminded myself that the Light was all around. Even though I can't see it, things are happening. I need to let go of my control of how I want things to happen and allow myself to be guided on where I am meant to be.

My phone beeped. Voicemail.

"Hi, just to let you know that I've talked with the program manager to get more details on the role you turned down. Apparently they are really not looking for technical at all - more workflow. Yours is the best CV I have seen. I would really love to put you forwards and if you have a chat with them and aren't keen, then you can let me know. No interest in the fashion industry remotely required"

Hmm. This is interesting.

But I'm still not wearing beige tartan.

Pennies from Heaven

2010-05-10T18:17:00.005+01:00

I'm not sure what's different this time round on the job seeking circuit - perhaps the stars are in better alignment - but little opportunities and short-cuts keep popping up when I least expect them.

First of all - a lesson learned, I guess - but the company offering the role I applied for recently (you know, the one that I spent 4 days solid filling out the application form) have not been in touch. Given that the interviews were meant to be held today, I'm taking that as a No.

Having said that, after not receiving an email confirmation for my application (when later confirming directly that it had been received), and speaking to one of the vaguest receptionists on the planet before having a similarly flimsy conversation with HR, leaving me none the wiser as to what was going on, my enthusiasm for working for the company had somewhat waned.

So this morning I decided to apply for the other role which had appeared out of the blue after tactfully turning down the all consuming role in Cambridge. The first step was to submit my CV, which I needed to modify. Then if I was successful, they would send me an application form.

I read through the job description and decided to take a quick look at their website. Which had a current vacancies section. Which gave a more detailed job description. And an application form so that I could skip the first level of screening and apply direct. Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle (or aunt - heaven knows, I'm hairy enough).

The application form is a bit of a doozy, however, with the employment history 'main duties' column being no more than two inches wide on paper. I might just have to modify their application form. Fortune favours the brave. But I'm still not entirely happy with my current employment being a voluntary position. It doesn't really give me the opportunity of showing them what I can do. Or is that just my pride? After all, if it's for me, it's meant to be. And if not, so what. (I know, I know, W.B. Yeats, eat your heart out).

So once again I was thrown in to the process of uhm-ing and ah-ing over how to approach this form. And then I checked my google mail account, and found an email from a different recruitment agent asking whether I was interested in a temporary Training Coordinator's contract, to start ASAP.

Yes, please. I can do that. I was back in to edit CV mode again. Perhaps if I get my application for the second role as ready as possible, I might be able to put something other than a voluntary role in the present employment section.

Before submitting my updated CV for the temporary role (just in case any moments of genius happened upon me when my brain hit the fresh air), I nipped out to Sainsbury's to pick up a few bits. And on the way home, I spotted another penny on the pavement.

And this one wasn't glued down.

A good sign, I hope. A sign that finally, things are starting to shift.

No is an answer like Yes

2010-05-06T11:14:00.005+01:00

My mobile rang yesterday morning. Anonymous Call. Half asleep (this was before my second coffee) I answered the call, expecting to hear the voice of my friend Hen Lady to make arrangements for Friday's Day Of Escape.

Hen Lady is the friend with two twin boys, one dog and 5 chickens (namely Rodney, Trigger, Big Bird, Ollie and Nugget - Del Boy, Gandalf and Frango (formerly 'Stupid') had been decapitated by foxes, and Bling had died of old age)

But it wasn't Hen Lady, it was a young woman working for a recruitment agency, who spotted the CV I had posted online. After gathering a bit more (muddle-headed) background on what experience I had and what type of role I wanted, where I wanted to work, would I be prepared to relocate, she told me that she had a role that she would love to put me forwards for as it perfectly matched my skills. She was very excited.

The position was as a technical trainer working for a software company, in Cambridge.

Not wanting to sound incapable or inflexible (and thoroughly flattered that my CV was transforming me in to some kind of IT Training Super Hero), I agreed for her to email the job role to me and to speak again in a couple of hours.

I read the job description and discounted each of my fears, one by one.

She had advised me not to be too concerned about the requirements for technical knowledge - I didn't need to be that technical. All the same, they stated they wanted in depth knowledge of servers, programming languages and web development. I was taught a few programming languages in University but that was over ten years ago. And I know what a server is, but I couldn't tell you the difference between an Apache server and an IIS server. I mean, I've heard of them, but I figure they would like a little more detail.

I took a look at their website to get a better idea of their products. And I hate to admit this, but it was so technical, I didn't understand a single word. They have created some kind of marvellous platform, but I couldn't even tell you why, or how it could be used.

They also wanted someone with at least a year's experience of IT classroom training, including setting up the room. Okay, so I could make myself sound more impressive, but had a feeling that this might backfire on me at interview, if grilled. Because this is another area where I don't have solid experience.

And the role was in Cambridge, which would mean a long commute. Well, maybe not a long commute - the train from Kings Cross takes 50 minutes. Let's see how close to the station they are in Cambridge. Oh. They're at least 4km from the station in the middle of a business park. Sooo.... 25 minutes from the front door to Kings Cross, 50 minutes on a train to Cambridge, 20 minutes bus ride at the other end. Add on waiting time and the commute would easily be over 2 hours, each way. If I hired a car and drove there, then the 1 hr and 15 minutes up the A10, round the M25 and up the M11 would easily be two hours in rush hour. And with training sessions running from 9 to 5 (plus at least 45 minutes before and after to set up and pack up) it would be a long day.

This isn't what I want. I don't want an enormous commute combined with a steep learning curve both on the training and technical side. I also don't want to be commuting outside of London, when I have only just moved in, for the specific reason of being close to my sister and being closer to the Kabbalah Centre. And I don't want to relocate either for the same reasons. But I don't want to appear unwilling either. Yes, I am sure I am capable, but this isn't what I want.

I emailed my teacher and expressed my feelings. What I really want is to find a decent job that uses my skills, enables me to attend the centre and be near to my sister, and not take up so much of my energy and time that I cannot focus on what I really want: to find a nice man and settle down. But if I turn down this opportunity, how is that perceived by the Light?

My teacher answered in one line.

Go with your feelings with certainty. No is an answer like Yes.

I rang the recruiter and told her that her offer had given me an opportunity to focus on what I really want - and that I didn't want to relocate. She was fine - very nice, in fact - and we will continue to be in touch for similar roles in London.

So last night I set up my automatic job email feeds and had a quick scan through the first email for suitable roles. And there, a short way down the listing, was a really positive and friendly job advert, for a nice little role with a good salary, in a charitable company. And the location? Just around the corner from the centre.

As my Mum would say: "Well, I'll be blowed" Although I've no idea what that actually means.

So I'm going to apply for this role, too, with the certainty that if it's for me, it's for me. And if not, I am certain that something else is lined up and waiting.

Pride and The Penny

2010-05-04T22:30:00.006+01:00

So here I am, 7 weeks after moving to Tottenham, innit, and I haven't even given you the low down on my living situation. And you know as soon as you read that sentence, that it is not likely that I found somewhere normal to live. Well, where would be the fun in that? I suspect you know me better.

I don't wish to bitch, so I will state the facts:

I am renting the bedroom of a one (yes, one) bedroom flat, from an Eastern European woman who is 13 years older than me.
We are very different.
She sleeps on the sofa bed in the living room.
Because this is a one bedroom flat with a combined living room and kitchen, this makes things a tad difficult when I fancy a nice cup of tea and find the door to the living room is shut. Or want to cook at any time.
She doesn't like me in her space in the morning.
She doesn't like me in her space in the evenings.
She doesn't really like it when I lock myself away in my room either.
There aren't really many other places that I can go.

I think that's enough to go by, logistically. With no money coming in and no cheaper options, I am lucky to have a roof over my head. Plus, I have to respect that I am the one with the bedroom - I'm not sure I would fancy sleeping on the sofa bed.

This morning - before I had finished drinking my coffee (and therefore was not quite yet awake) - I received a little bit of, shall we say, 'helpful advice' (a.k.a. her opinion) as to where I was going wrong.

I needed to restrict on my spending because I didn't have much money (okay, so this is the reason why for the past 3 weeks I have only spent money on train fare and food?)
That I needed to do my best on finding a job (uh-huh); and
That I was too closed - I needed to open up my thoughts a little bit more (actually, if she knew some of my thoughts, she would probably be grateful that I kept them to myself)

Wincing slightly from biting my tongue, I logged on to Facebook to check the energy of the day. Today was the day of Nobility in Humility - appreciation that the Light gives us messages all the time, and so to open ourselves up to listen to what other people were saying.

Oh, crap. I take it all back.

I had a meeting with my teacher today for the first time in 5 weeks. I told him of my living situation. I told him that it was not easy to stay positive. I wondered whether he would simply agree with what she said and hence deliver a double-whammy. He didn't.

"You see," he said "what the Light is telling you here is that you just need to get any job so that you can get out from where you are living. And yes, you are taking action to get a job, but even though you can get the good job in a week, sometime it take one month before you start and maybe two month for the money to come through. So before then, just go out and work on the checkout, or something. Then at least you don't have the anxiety from having no money. And the job that you are looking for will appear for you"

And this is what I had already been thinking for the past week (thanks, Sis) and was planning to do. But still, I admitted to him, I had to fight hard with my pride. Kabbalah Rookie, 1st class honours degree in Computing, working on a checkout? Or as an Office Assistant? It cannot be!, says my Pride. My teacher and I discussed the merits of being humble.

So that is what I plan to do - swallow my pride, walk in to an Agency and say "I don't care what it is, I need a job asap". So this will be interesting. And yes, maybe my landlady has a point, but I think my teacher's message was pretty clear.

Anyways, I head home and make my way to Sainsbury's to spend more money on food (have you seen the latest bargains on chocolate? My word...). As I was walking past a rather busy bus stop, I spotted a penny on the pavement. Aha! Abundance! The Universe has given me a penny! So I stopped to pick it up, curled my fingernails round the edge, and it wouldn't shift. Wtf? I tried again. Nothing happening, except for a broken nail. Great.

At this point I noticed a few eyes burning holes in the back of my head and realised that everyone at the bus stop was watching me try to pick up a penny that had been super-glued to the pavement. And you would think that a penny glued to uneven concrete would come away quite easily, but no, it seemed to be virtually welded to the spot. The penny was going nowhere. I swiftly stood up and scurried on, avoiding eye contact to the disappointment of my audience, pride turning my cheeks a nice rosy pink.

Dagnabbit.

So it looks as though the only way that the Universe is going to give me any money, is if I overcome my pride and get Any Old Job. But what a creative way to deliver a message.

Not only that, but I was sent an email from one of my personal development/positive thinking/laws of the Universe subscriptions at the same time that I was wrestling the penny, with the subject of Mixed Messages. And the case in point?

Telling the Universe that you want more money and then ignoring a penny lying on the pavement.

Okay, I think I have the message now. Can the next penny not be stuck down, please?

Virgin on the ridiculous...

2010-04-28T19:10:00.004+01:00

I moved out of my rented house in such a rush and now seem to be paying the consequences. Either that, or am a victim of complete incompetence. Hmm.... you decide.

This was the only time I have ever moved without notifying all of the utility companies in advance, and I contacted Virgin Media the day after I had moved out to cancel my Broadband, TV and Phone package. They advised me that normally they require 30 days notice, but that I could opt for immediate disconnection if I was sure that I no longer needed to use the phone. I'm not quite sure which part of 'I have handed in the keys and no longer have access to the property' they didn't understand, but there we go.

After confirming that I wanted immediate disconnection, I asked for an estimation of the final account, given that I paid for the service one month in advance as part of my contract. The woman advised that I owed roughly £8, plus any call charges.

Marvellous.

Oh that it were true.

Two weeks later I was browsing my bank account, cancelling any remaining direct debits. And there it is: a debit from Virgin Media for £39.82. £39.82? That's not what I had written down on my notepad. That's not £8.

I rang them up to query the charge, slightly curious as to what they were feeding their bills to make them grow by nearly £32. The man I spoke to couldn't answer my query, except that the early disconnection fee was apparently £15 and I owed £18 for the days remaining on my contract, although he couldn't give me the exact dates this covered. He said that according to the system, I had been advised of the early disconnection charges, although the woman hadn't recorded the actual value. More than a little disgruntled, I was advised to write a letter to the Customer Care team, and he gave me the address.

I wrote the letter, but due to a) my envelopes being stored in my Dad's workshop and b) the black ink on my printer being extremely low, it didn't make it past the hard drive of my laptop.

I did, however, get round to printing out the cancellation of my TV Licence, with a request for refund.

Today my redirected post started to arrive. In the first bundle were 3 letters from the TV Licensing authority - the first two confirming the cancellation of my licence, with refunds of £70 and £12.12 respectively. Thank you very much. The third was a letter explaining that they had noticed I had recently cancelled my direct debit, and therefore it was not possible to take further instalments, and could I contact them to provide my bank account details?

Er, in a word, No.

Also included in this bundle was a pre-court notification from a Debt Collection agency, stating that I owed Virgin Media the sum of £39.82, and that failure to pay would result in further proceedings.

Interesting. How do they manage to type these letters, given that the left hand clearly doesn't know what the right hand is doing....

It's the way I tell 'em

2010-04-27T13:06:00.006+01:00

Two quick jokes...

Joke #1

Two cats were swimming the channel: a British cat called One Two Three, and a French cat called Un Deux Trois.

Which cat won?

The English cat, One Two Three.

Why?

Because Un Deux Trois quatre cinque..........

Joke #2 - a Hebrew joke...

Miriam was in court, having been caught shoplifting.

"You stole a can of peaches" the Judge said "How do you plead?"

"Guilty" says Miriam

"Why did you steal the peaches?" the Judge asks

"Because I was hungry" Miriam replies.

"How many peaches were in the can?" the Judge asks

"Five, your Honour"

The Judge thinks for a moment and then said "Okay, so for this crime you will serve 5 days in prison - one for each peach"

At this point, Miriam's husband stands up and says "Excuse me, your Honour, I would like to give some more information"

"Go ahead" says the Judge

"She also stole a can of peas...."

Hey, I didn't say they were good jokes...

Procrastination, continued...

2010-04-26T18:33:00.003+01:00

Okay, okay, so nobody's perfect. But I'm doing my best. Well, maybe I'm not quite doing my best, but I'm planning to later on. I promise.

I've found a job that I am really interested in applying for. I have just about all of the skills in some areas, and more than the skills in others. It's for a really good charitable organisation. I am fired up. I can see myself in this role.

And here is my downfall. I can so much see myself in this role that the thought of not getting an interview is giving me the shakes. So I really need to get the application right. And as the application doesn't have to be in until next week, I am spending more time than would be required by any normal person. (Then again, who said I was 'normal'...)

So I haven't actually completed any of the fields on the application form. Not yet. But when I do, man, it's going to be impressive - they won't be able to turn me down, surely? But I promise you that everything I have done during the day is working towards creating a blinding application and preparing me for interview.

First of all, I printed out the application form, job description and equal opportunities form, at which point I noticed that the black ink on my printer was Extremely Low. I already ordered the ink when it was 'low' and the packet was waiting to be collected at the local Royal Mail collections office, one train stop away. So before they decided to return it to sender, I thought I ought not procrastinate any more and go and pick it up.

And as the collection office was one train stop away, I pondered the chances of being caught not paying for my fare. I mean, it's one stop, right? On a national rail line, during the middle of the day... So I didn't pay my fare. I wonder if this could count on my CV as an example of Risk Taking? (or whether it would be considered pure theft?)

Anyhow, the train arrived and, lost in my thoughts, I casually boarded in the third carriage. The doors beeped and closed, at which point I surfaced from my dream state for five seconds, looked to the right, and saw halfway down the carriage three men wearing yellow jackets with writing on which read "RAIL ENFORCEMENT OFFICER". Oh. Bugger.

Luckily for me, all three of them were already 'enforcing penalties' on some other risk taker. I'm not sure why it took all three of them, but I'm glad that it did. Muttering a profuse number of prayers in my head, I tried to look as casual as possible whilst willing the next station to appear, considering that shifting from one leg to another with my finger on the 'Door Open' button and muttering 'Come o-o-o-o-on, come o-o-o-o-on' would attract more than a small amount of suspicion. And there were three of them. I'm not sure if it was relief or the thrill of getting away scot free, but I leapt off the train giggling like a schoolgirl.

After wandering halfway round the streets of Bruce Grove (walking past a pub called The Titanic, would you believe) I eventually asked for directions to the parcel office and discovered that it was located just behind the station itself. Next time I will look at Google Maps the right way up. Thankfully a good sense of direction is not required as part of my job role, with the exception of actually getting to the interview.

There were no enforcement officers on the way home, and no, I didn't pay. Evidence that I am proficient in Probability.

When I got home I had the bright idea of contacting a friend to see if I could use his online training account to brush up on some of the technology required for the role. More theft. I shall be punished. I also emailed another friend to ask if she would pull some Help Desk data so that I can see what type of calls I may have to handle. And then I started working through the online training itself.

Everything I've done today (except for the blatant stealing) is all a good foundation for future job roles. Kind of. In any event, it's still one step further than yesterday.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Building my castle on the rock

2010-04-25T11:40:00.005+01:00

What's going on? The majority of blog posts I have caught up with today have been on either washing, or condoms, or washing and condoms.

I cannot add to the condom side of things, having no need for them in my life at this particular moment in time (chance would be a fine thing), but I was planning to do a couple of loads of washing this afternoon.

Wow - the interconnectedness of all things. The Universe Speaks. And not just in Blog Land.

The energy for last week (and being carried in to this week) was to Love Thy Neighbour As Thyself. Not having attended the Zohar class (where the energy of the week was explained), I was a little bit surprised to hear this given that this was the conclusion I had come to the day before.

The concept of Love Thy Neighbour As Thyself, to me, means two things - first, that you cease to judge anybody, and secondly (and most appropriate for this week) if you want to love thy neighbour as thyself, first of all you have to love thyself.

When the concept of this was mentioned during the shabbat lecture, my friend turned to me and said "Just yesterday I was saying to my friend, if the river is to feed all of the streams, something needs to feed the river"

It's so true, and something I have come to realise over the past week or so. It seems as though I am not the only one - you see: The Interconnectedness of All Things....

I bought a guided meditation package just over a week ago, feeling the need for a little help on visualising my future. It is a 21 day course, which guides you to achieving a goal. So first of all, you have to set the goal. And the instructions somewhat disappointed me.

"Think of a big goal that you feel really excited about...."

Okay, so I need to get a job. Level of excitement? Zero. Too much fear, too much guilt, too much lack, not enough appreciation of what I can do. Oh. So that's not very helpful. I sat and looked at the sheet of paper, and turned the instructions around in my head. So, let's look at this another way, what kind of job could I be really excited about getting? Something that makes me come alive?

The job came to me, my imagination started to work, and my excitement started to grow. And as I began to visualise being in this job, time and time again, I started to be able to see my abilities for myself.

This has fired off a whole chain of events - an internal shift which I've not had in a very long time. I have started to love what I have to offer, without the need to hear it from anyone else. I have started to understand that my future which I have been seeing in shades of Depression Grey for so very long, is starting to burst in to colour. Without the ability to really connect to a positive future, I had no desire. Now my desire is growing.

And once that connection has been made of taking care of my own happiness, of understanding what I am capable of, of truly appreciating myself and hence loving myself, then the rest appears to be just commentary. I don't need to look at other, more accomplished people and feel as though I am less - because, well, good for them, I have something to offer too. The guilt that has kept me secluded for so many years is starting to fall away, and I've discovered that once I have removed my own fear of judgement from other people, it has ceased to exist. It was only me who was putting it in to the picture in the first place, whereas when I am focusing on the positive - on what I can do - what I haven't done just doesn't get discussed. How sublime.

Thank heavens for guided meditation. I feel as though I am finally building my castle upon the rock. But until I am living in that castle, I guess I will still have to do my own washing...

Yes, I am just doing this for fun

2010-04-21T22:51:00.003+01:00

Okay, so I finally finished two CVs. And saved them. And then my head fell off through the sheer effort of concentration (and probably way too much caffeine), so I went to watch a little bit of TV (something that I never do during the day, although to be fair, it was 4pm by the time my head fell off).

And then I went back and re-opened my CVs and decided that I wasn't happy with them.

How can I be? How can you capture the magnificence of my Being on two sides of A4? Impossible.

Bereft of anything else to add, I decided to make them look a little prettier instead. Blind the agencies with outstanding layout. That'll do the trick.

As it was 4pm and my head had fallen off, there was no chance of having to actually speak to anyone, so I cooked dinner and then went back to my free Hebrew course. And I love it. I cannot write the letters for toffee and am reliant on seeing the vowel sounds for pronunciation, but I love it. I am now at the end of lesson 3, and only have one free lesson to go before I discover that I cannot afford to pay to learn any more.

So there's my incentive to get a job. That and a home laser hair removal kit.

Later in the evening I had a call from my Dad, who told me that I needed to get a job.

Half an hour after that, my 'landlady' gave me a lecture on getting a job, actually stating that at times she wanted to put me over her knee and smack me for hiding away instead of working.

It's as if people think that I am doing this to somehow piss them off - like I am enjoying watching my bank account run further in to the red. What a hoot!

I can understand their frustration because I know what I am capable of. If I could start work tomorrow without having to be screened, interviewed, tested, judged, questioned and doubted, then I would.

On the surface, to the people who know me, nothing appears to have changed. I am lazy and avoiding work. I am wasting my talents. I am irresponsible. They don't see what is stopping me and for the life of me I cannot explain this invisible wall which has blocked me for so long.

What they cannot see are the changes taking place within. Over the past week I have started to develop an inner strength that I haven't felt before. Something is definitely going on and the bricks are being knocked away, one by one.

And now that I have finally finished my CVs, the world may just be my lobster...

The Fine Art of Procrastination

2010-04-21T13:07:00.003+01:00

I am pulling my CV together. Honest. I am closer than I have ever been. In fact, I have created one CV and am now in the process of creating a second one for the type of role that I actually want.

I am way too modest for CV creation to come naturally to me. No, seriously, I am the most modest person going. Out of all of the modest people out there, I am the best. (Hmmm... wonder if I could make that in to a bullet point in my Personal Profile?)

The pain of creating this amazing CV (which will only have to be chopped and changed and buggered about with anyway, so I am not sure exactly why I am giving myself such a hernia over this) has grown so huge that it is remarkable how many other "important" things I am finding to do with my time.

Even on the best day, I am a mental butterfly, lightly landing on a task for, oh, about five minutes before being distracted by the next brightly coloured or shiny thing. My boredom threshold even for the things I love to do is very low. I feel pity for my past boyfriends, who had to deal with 'oh, you're still horny? I am ready for a nice cup of tea' only five minutes after removing our clothes. Or maybe I exaggerate. Perhaps it was ten minutes.

With the absence of a boyfriend, sex is off the list as a distraction, and I find myself taking the art of procrastination to its most mundane level.

Get up, make cup of coffee.
Make another cup of coffee.
Morning meditation.
Third cup of coffee.
Get dressed.
Read email - pick out the emails to respond to later, after creating CV.
Open CV document.
Decide to respond to emails now, rather than later. I mean, who knows how long this is going to take?
Remember to put washing on. Return to laptop.
Remember to take chicken out of the freezer. Return to laptop.
Check email again. Oh look, I can respond to this one really quickly. Oh, and this one has a really interesting article.
Look at CV. Hear stomach rumble. Eat banana and make a cup of tea.
Decide to quickly check blogs whilst finishing cup of tea.
Empty washing machine and take time to remove as many creases as possible when placing clothes on dryer.
Remember that I want to order some books on Amazon, have a very quick search.
Follow links from recommended titles and end up taking 2 full lessons on how to speak Hebrew. Feel proud that I stopped at 2 lessons, when 4 were free.
Return to CV, write a couple of lines. Get stuck.
Check email, just in case. Find another couple of interesting articles.
Decide to have a break from the computer, back is getting stiff and hand turning in to claw.
Make another cup of tea. Have brainwave on how to deal with CV format. Promise to instantly return after cup of tea and put changes in place after lunch.
And after checking email..
And after checking for updated blogs...

*sigh*

This too, will pass. Just one more check of email...

No Pain, No Gain

2010-04-18T13:17:00.006+01:00

Without wanting to bore you with a load of spiritual clap trap, we are in the period of the Counting of the Omer. The Counting of the Omer comes directly after Pesach and lasts seven weeks. It's a time where you shouldn't start anything new. It's a time where life feels like wading through treacle and no progress seems to be made.

Shabbat yesterday was filled with strained faces - lots of grinning through gritted teeth. Ask the question "How are you?" and the reply is never "Great!" but more along the lines of "Ye-e-e-e-e-a-a-ah - ask me another" accompanied by an expression that says 'we're in the Counting of the Omer and I feel like I am wading through treacle'

Fortunately, when you wade through treacle (can't say that I have personally had the experience, but I have a very good imagination and can see it as being at least twice as challenging as Aqua Aerobics) it might be tough, but the rewards are greater. Push through anything during the Counting of the Omer and you have the chance to earn yourself a great deal of Light on the night of Shavuot - the day where it is possible to tap in to the energy of Immortality. Okay, so now we're talking - surely it has to be worth the effort.

One of the things I decided to push through was this whole business of exercise, because thin though I may be, I am not remotely fit. I have received many compliments on my new figure, having dropped a dress size over the past few months, and have also been questioned on how I achieved my weight loss. To this end I am honest. "Unhealthily" I reply. Add stress to not eating from one day to the next and the love handles just melt away, as does half of your muscle. The tops of my arms are now sleek and skinny, and if I tense my stomach muscles I have a totally unearned six pack going on. Kind of. If I squint a little. Even my usually rather sticky out bum has started to look flat. The thighs, it has to be said, are still in existence.

The only problem with not eating is that there is little energy to do anything else and to this extent skinny people with eating disorders are not the most fun people to be around, because after ten minutes of window shopping (if you haven't lost them down a grate by this point) they want to sit down and take a rest. And the number of times I have almost slipped imperceptibly between train and platform where there are no 'Mind The Gap' signs just beggars belief. If it weren't for my long, flappy feet it would be a different story altogether.

Anyhow, being a lover of healthy food, junk food AND chocolate, I decided that if I want to stop drifting around like an outpatient, I ought to start eating AND start exercising. And then maybe I'll get to keep my new size (because I can't afford to buy more clothes) and I will have more energy.

I know, just call me Einstein.

So on Friday I finally took my Bar Method DVD out of it's box and ran through the workout. And I love the Bar Method. Lots of little, tiny movements, no leaping around, and short term pain. There are lots of little repetitions, but not enough to make me cry. Just when I get to the point where I am thinking 'it's no good, I'm going to have to put my leg down', the instructor on the DVD (who has the body that I am aiming for, dammit) says 'Okay, and we're done. You can lower your leg. Good Job!'

After the workout, I get the feeling that, actually, I haven't done anything at all. I feel fine. Did any of those teeny movements actually do anything? I feel doubtful. The same doubt that I feel when I take any action in other areas and am impatient to see the change.

Luckily, workout-wise, I don't have to wait too long to feel the difference. Because I woke up yesterday feeling as though I had run the London Marathon a day early. And this is supposed to make me fit? I thought, as I clawed my way in to the bathroom, my calf muscles so tight that I could barely get my heels on the ground.

So I spent most of yesterday in various stretch postures to prevent my body from seizing up in to a shape resembling The Hooded Claw. Halfway through the afternoon, after an inadvisable nap which had turned most of my muscles to wood, there was a knock at the door. It was the local Jehovah's Witnesses.

After a brief and polite discussion where I explained that I studied Kabbalah (which they had never heard of), she glanced curiously at my rigid posture and asked a crucial question:

"Is Immortality something that you believe in?"

In theory, yes I do. In practice, I'd feel blessed if I made it to next week....

Life's Simple Pleasures

2010-04-07T12:41:00.004+01:00

Life in Tottenham is bringing many challenges.

No, it's not the neighbourhood, with the group of local itinerant teenagers sometimes breaking in to the block to smoke cannabis and intimidate the residents.

It's not even the slightly infrequent overground train service which only runs every half hour on a Sunday which is getting me down.

No, no, it's more of a fundamental requirement which is bugging me - Water.

I should be grateful really, that I live in a country which provides 24 hour access to the most important element in drinkable form. And I am. I am eternally thankful for this sustaining source of life being piped in to the house. No, truly. It's a blessing. Thank You God that I shall never go thirsty.

But hey, God, now that you are on the line, could I ask just a teensy favour? Could you warm it up a bit and bring it through the taps a tiny bit faster, so that I can have a hot bath at some point today, preferably before I have to leave the house at 5?

The flat I live in is on the 4th floor. The day after I moved in, the water pressure coming through the bath taps and the shower dropped significantly enough to trick the boiler in to thinking that nothing was coming through.

Now, call me spoiled if you wish, but I do love a hot shower. Standing under a dribble of tepid water is not enough to set me up for the day. My landlady is practical and philosophical - a tepid shower is not so bad - it's tolerable.

No, no, no. It's not tolerable - it's insufferable! I don't wake up in the morning until my skin is a bright shade of pink all over!

Being of swift mind, I soon discovered a neat little trick: if I turn on the hot tap at the sink and turn it down to a trickle once the hot water starts coming through, the boiler stays on and the dribble of water trying to pass itself off as a shower comes through passably warm. Sometimes it even steams up the mirrors.

Today, being delightfully filled with snot and feeling groggy, I decided that it would be a real tonic to have a good soak instead. After 'running' the bath for half an hour and writing most of this blog post in the meantime, I returned to the bathroom to find 2 inches of water which still didn't really fit my description of 'hot'.

Oh well. As a good friend once said: "Persistence narrows the odds"

As would a good plumber.

Little Sis, Big Sis

2010-04-06T19:08:00.003+01:00

There comes a time in every girls life when she realises that she is not getting any younger.

Don't get me wrong, (oh, my God, I sound just like mother), I still feel very young at heart and as genes go, I chose my parents well.

I have always looked young for my age and for a while this did not play in my favour - not so much in relationships (which man doesn't want to go out with someone who has the worldly wisdom of a 25 year old, but the looks of a 19 year old?) but more with respect to work. Throughout my twenties my face refused to age and hence I commanded the respect of an office junior.

At University in my late twenties, I looked the same age as all of the other students, but being mentally older than my actual years was deemed way too sensible and boring to fit in (oh pullease, Been there, done that. I went through the binge drinking and staggering home at all hours years ago, and had been out from under the watchful eye of my parents since my fellow students were still chewing on rusks). I didn't want to be in their gang anyway.

As I have tiptoed through my thirties, things have improved. I am now receiving a little more respect because I look old enough to make an adult decision, but am still receiving compliments that I don't look a day over, oo, 32. And sometimes less, which is nice.

And no matter what age I reach, my older sister is always three years ahead of me. And she's always looked older than me.

Looking at our childhood photos, it was obvious who was older. I guess it's not rocket science to distinguish a 3 year old from a 6 year old, or a 14 year old from an 11 year old. We were visibly very different - my sister had a slightly broader face and darker, thicker hair. She was always much taller and stronger (compared to my 'runt of the litter' look with three hernia operations under my belt by the age of six) and she was always more interested in clothes than I was. It took a long while to separate me from my M&S boys shoes, staypress trousers and Harrington jacket. So she always looked and behaved more grown up, whereas I was the tomboy cheeky monkey, splodding about in the background, making mud pies, climbing trees and falling off my bike (and yes, I am still talking about my twenties here).

The only thing that was really the same about us is that we were granted the same voice box - we sounded identical. This has led, in the past, to some rather amusing phone conversations - even our parents occasionally get it wrong if we don't announce who we are at the start of a call. Highly entertaining if you have a devious mind.

But with every passing year, we have started to look more and more like each other. My hair has grown darker, my face has filled out slightly, I am wearing heels more often and am choosing my clothes more carefully. Every now and then I might even pass for a grown up.

All the same, I am still the younger sister. That is still clear, surely?

Apparently not.

This weekend my sister joined me at the Kabbalah Centre for Shabbat. I wish I'd had a hidden camera to film the response. We were wearing very similar clothes, our hair was almost the same, our height was similar due to my choice of heels. Yes, we looked the same - even down to the bags under our knackered (but beautiful blue) eyes.

Close friends who knew Nicola was coming by were stunned by the similarity, and then even more so when she started talking and sounded just like me.

One acquaintance stopped to have a quick conversation with me, then caught sight of my sister out of the corner of her eye and did a cartoon double take, jaw dropped as though caught up in a David Blaine illusion.

Yes, don't we look and sound the same, me and my lovely Big Sister.

And for a second I was so proud. Until a close friend innocently asked "So, which one of you is older?"

I nearly swallowed my own tongue. Ahem, excuse me?? What do you mean, "which one of you is older?" It's clearly bloody obvious which one of us is bloody older, my big bloody sister is bloody older. That's who's bloody older. I'm the little sister. I've always been the little sister. Look, see, I'm littler. I look like the little sister and I act like the little sister and I'm sure I told you last week that my big sister was coming down for Shabbat today. When was the last time you had an eye test, just out of curiosity? Is that labrador with you? What is this place, the RNIB?

Which one of you is older, I ask you.

Flaming cheek.

And for a while I was concerned - are my looks starting to fade? Has the fairytale ended already?

I console myself the only way I can - with pride that somehow, my Big Sister has started to look younger....

Less Talk, More Action

2010-04-01T12:51:00.003+01:00

The voice is back. Kind of. Enough to speak to my sister this morning, and enough to point out to my landlady that I thought that the new filter on her fish tank might be on too high a level, considering that every five seconds one of the four fishes was being blown sideways from one end of the tank to the other. Very visually amusing, but not much fun for the fish.

So my voice is different, and I believe that my words will be different too. It is only over the past couple of days, not being able to express every banal thought that entered my head, or contribute MY own experience to every conversation, that I have realised how many words I have wasted. I thought for a moment that I had exceeded my quota for this lifetime. Perish the thought.

Each of the meetings with my teacher I have wanted to focus on talking about me, me, me. MY process, MY experiences, MY thoughts. Okay, sure, let me hear about the energy of the week/month/holiday, just as long as we can quickly cover the latest of the dramas currently taking place in my life. I'll trade you. Through the Ego Workshop, I identified that I held a lot of Judgement - I compare myself to other people, judging them by my standards and myself by their achievements. And I look for recognition or approval from other people because I'm not certain that I am actually enough.

I am looking for my fulfilment in external things rather than building it from within. That explains a little why I like to try so many different, crazy things to make myself appear more interesting (white water rafting, land-yachting, bungee jumping, elephant riding, scuba diving, mountain trekking, skiing, flying a plane, flying a glider, water-skiing, trampolining) and why there is nothing more exhilarating than riding the biggest, fastest, wildest rollercoaster. (Aren't I fun? Aren't I daring? Do you like me now? Do you want to hear about the time I handled a tarantula or played with a meerkat?)

Unexpectedly, the need for external fulfilment now appears to have wained slightly, or perhaps something is just stronger within. Pesach seems to have spun an internal miracle.

By being silent for nearly three days, I painfully realised how many times I have paid lip service to what I was going to do, and avoided actually doing anything. I recognised that whilst I felt devoid of the recognition I felt I deserved from my teacher for 'working so hard on my process', that actually, what I have achieved isn't quite enough yet. And I don't mean that in a judgemental way, just in understanding that instead of wanting brownie points for generating my own inner miracles, I have to keep plugging away, doing more, listening more, applying myself more, learning more. And talking less.

Yesterday I received the outcome on the interview from last Thursday - I didn't get the job. They didn't think that my technical skills were good enough, they wanted somebody who could immediately get up to speed. Unable to even voice my frustration, I choked back some bitter tears. I know that I could have got up to speed really quickly. That job was meant for me - simply by the way it came to me. I thought I had done so well.

Later in the day, I re-read the email. And actually, it was quite polite. She said I would be an asset to their team, and that they would keep my CV on file. She said she would keep me in mind for any database roles. Once I took my pride out of the loop, I could see how they would want somebody with technical skills who could add to the role, rather than somebody who would spend the first few weeks with smoke coming out of her ears, trying to translate the syntax for every query.

Of course - because at the interview, for some bizarre reason (trying to show the best interest in the role I was interviewing for) I stated that training on a full time basis quickly became boring and I preferred the support roles. Like, duh. A bit of a silly thing to say, given that I know they have a training based role (which I would much rather do) coming up in the near future.

So, what were my choices? I could either believe that everything she said in the email was a lie and that she simply didn't like me, and walk the other way. Or I could email her and explain what I was really looking for, and possibly re-open a door. And I could properly revise my CV and seriously start looking for work elsewhere.

And when I am making the real effort and taking real action, the rewards are going to be much bigger than a few words of recognition from my teacher.

The Power of Words

2010-03-31T08:29:00.004+01:00

Okay, so this is no longer funny. I still cannot speak. What was a croak yesterday afternoon was reduced to a complete whisper last night.

This is not fun for a Gemini - ruled by the planet Mercury: the Messenger, the Communicator. Taking the power of speech from a Gemini is like taking the wings from a bird. Yesterday afternoon I was reading 'Training for Dummies', which is ironic. Whoever heard of a mute Trainer?

So, the Universe wants to teach me a lesson, and the sooner I learn it, the sooner my words will return. And I don't think they will be the same words as before.

The Tree of Life reality works on the premise of positive actions reaping positive outcomes - you reap what you sow. Plant an apple seed, and you don't expect an orange tree to grow. Plant a bad seed, don't water it and what, you want nice fruit? Anything physical in the universe starts with something metaphysical. Everything created in this world was conceived by thought.

Thought. Word. Deed. Take away the Words and what am I left with? My thoughts.

I am a quick learner. I am quick to observe. I am also quick to open my mouth and dominate a conversation, chip in my two-pen'orth, verbalise everything that runs through my mind, make myself feel better by having something to say. My Ego considers that everything that churns out of my mouth is something of value and worth hearing, but after being forced to listen to others without the ability to respond, I am changing my mind.

I am meeting them all - from the people who compensate for their own insecurities with dramatic and snippy statements to those who have to provide a running commentary of every action. But like I said, without the physical ability to react or respond, I am forced to listen to my thoughts - my own Ego, chattering away.

"Oh that's terrible - you have to leave at one thirty? I can tell you, darling, you will miss lunch. They are running so late. I have been here since half nine and they've only just really started. What will you do?" (like I am going to die if I miss the lunch, or something? Like I've made a tragic error by assuming that they would start on time? Have you not thought that considering I have been coming here for twice as long as you have that I haven't worked out that most connections here start late? Chill, lady, my spiritual completion isn't going to hinge around a single lunch). Hey, so probably you can't speak because you talk too much anyway. (Gee, thanks. I'll take that on board.)

"I think the strudel is cooked now. I think it needed longer in the oven (well, that figures) Oh but I don't know how I didn't see that the ice-cream was mint. I didn't notice in the shop and I didn't notice when I put in the freezer. I don't like the mint. (You've said this already, twice).... So, we will take this from here.... and put on here..... I think you will like this. Yes, I think you will. Good to have something warm. Maybe you have the pasta tomorrow.....Still, we will have the dessert. ............... It's not so bad because they have the white ice-cream on the top............(yes, it's nice) and the chocolate is good. You think the chocolate is good? (is a nod good enough for you?) but still all the same I like the vanilla.... It has raisins inside (You don't say. It's an apple strudel, it should have raisins inside, and yes, I noticed there were raisins. Actually, they are sultanas, not raisins. Oh and apple too. Are you going to point out the apple too? Or maybe the pastry?) I think it's warm enough. Do you think it's cooked? (of course it's cooked, can you not tell for yourself?) I think so............ You should have some more - please finish it. I am full. I am not hungry today. (I have just eaten the equivalent of 2000 calories in pastry, apples and ice-cream, and you think I should be eating more? I bet this serves 6 people minimum. There are two of us. If I eat any more, I will be sick). Painfully I croak "Seriously, I am full - thank you. It's really delicious" ............................ Really I think you should finish it. (*sigh* oh please don't force me to speak again). I am not hungry today. I had big lunch. It was so cold..... and they say that the weather is going to get a little bit colder...... So much rain........... *sigh* ...so much rain. Too much for the birds, I think".

Too much for me, I think.

Listening to other people makes me realise how dull some of my own verbal ramblings can be, and how much of what I say isn't necessary at all.

The only amusing part in all of this is watching other people's reactions when the only response that you can continually give is a smile. Not being able to converse and fill in the gaps and agree or disagree has a remarkable effect. Because whilst I am left with my thoughts, they are left with the sound of their own voices.

A learning experience for us all.

The Silence is Deafening - but only for me...

2010-03-30T14:38:00.004+01:00

So - my second Pesach last night. A LOT of fun. Lots of singing, lots of downing glasses of wine, lots of clapping, lots of getting confused with the Seder plate.

The first challenge was to move outside my comfort zone - my friends were in San Diego and I hadn't arranged to meet anyone there. It's a funny thing, because last year I went to most events as a 'stranger' and I felt quite used to turning up on my own. And now as I have formed my own friendships, I feel a little bit lost when they are not there.

The loneliness lasted all of five minutes - as soon as I sat down I got chatting to a couple of people, and the rest, as they say, was history.

And after 40 minutes, so was my voice. I'm not sure at which point my voice disappeared, but by the time I reached the dinner table it was no longer there. The best I can managed is a hoarse croak (or should that be a husky murmur?)

This meant that much of the time I spent listening rather than talking. Perhaps that was my challenge. Perhaps the 'Light' wanted me to hear certain things that I wouldn't have been able to capture with my mouth open (which I did). Or perhaps God is saying 'Oh for goodness sakes woman, just give everyone else's ears a rest for a change'. Either way, I had little choice. And apart from driving each person nuts at least twice by explaining I had lost my voice, which due to my broken dulcet tones was entirely unnecessary (hey, I did drink four glasses of wine, down in one, three of them on an empty stomach) I think most people appreciated that unless we were singing (or drinking wine), my jaw was clamped firmly shut.

And my voice is still absent this morning - a blessed relief for all concerned.

There is just one teensy problem. The woman who interviewed me last week said that she would get back to me on Friday. She didn't. So I lasted out the weekend and decided that she would get in touch yesterday. She didn't.

I have to admit, all manner of thoughts have been going through my head, from 'she's busy' to 'do I smell, or something?' to 'well, how incredibly rude. The least that she could do is let me know either way' to 'maybe they are interviewing other people and lining me up for another role' to 'maybe they are interviewing other people and have decided not to touch me with a barge pole'

Whatever their decision, you have to admit, it doesn't look promising. I mean, they're not exactly snapping my hand off, are they? So here I am with my pride a tad dented - feeling rather buoyant after the interview, that I could not fail in getting the job, that they would ring me first thing in the morning and say 'Yes, you would add enormous value to our company. when can you start?' - wondering now which bit of me they didn't like, if any.

So I should call. It's the grown up thing to do. Touch base with them, remind them of my interest in working for their company. Except that I have no voice. So I can't.

Silence all round.

Naff and cowardly as it seems, I'm going to have to send an email instead. And then crack on with re-writing my CV. In silence.

Preparing for Pesach

2010-03-29T15:31:00.003+01:00

Tonight's the night. From sunset tonight we get the opportunity to change: to remove our negative traits forever. Well, it clearly didn't work last year, not for me anyway. But this year I have attempted a little more preparation.

For the past couple of weeks I have been consumed with the task of completing an 'Ego Workshop', identifying my Ego: when and how do I react?

I could go on forever with all of my negative traits, but I was given a list of 12 to put in to order: which do I identify with the most, and which do I identify with the least. Only 12? Is that all? Well, that's a tough call, but not wanting to turn in something produced with half effort (PRIDE), I did my best and completed the sheets in my neatest handwriting.

Judgement came out on tops. I judge all of the time. I compare. I wondered whether anyone else was being as open as me with their answers. Because it's not easy to go this deep. And if you think it is, well, I'm not even going to say what I think of you. Oops, there I go again...

So, how to choose from the rest? Looking for Comfort: check. Distances from people: check. Depression: *sigh* I guess I can see those in myself. Others I couldn't really see as being me, but on reading the descriptions on how these traits show up in your thoughts, it was hard to choose between them (and no, indecisiveness was not on the list, and given that I filled out the sheets at the last minute, I was disappointed to see that procrastination wasn't there either. I mean, what kind of silly test is this? (Oh wait, Judgement again?)

The trait that I least identified with was "Abrasive" (which sat just above Anger and Rage). The description for 'Abrasive' was "Cynical, Rude and Agressive, Criticism and Tactless, Ignores"

I met with my teacher, after he had changed the time of our meeting twice at the last minute. He had forgotten all about the Ego Workshop. I mean, for heaven's sakes, what kind of treatment is this? Do I have to do all of the running here? (Oo, hello Entitlement)
I dug the carefully folded sheets out of my oversized handbag and winced as he glanced at the sheets and said "I cannot read your handwriting - read through it and explain what you have said"
Cannot read my handwriting? Cannot read my handwriting? MY lovely neat handwriting? (Hey, Pride! Good to see you again, thanks for popping by! And who's that you brought with you.. Oh Hi Anger! My, my, you move quickly!)

"So" he said after looking at my numbered list "Abrasive not something you see in yourself"
"No" I replied, not at all abrasively.
"The ones that you see the least are the ones that are harder to remove. They are there at the bottom of the layers of the Ego. When you react in your usual way, you should be looking for traces of the concealed Ego - the root of the Ego - so that it can be exposed".

I mean, for goodness sakes, what kind of exercise is this? You ask for the obvious and then spin it all around on me. I give you my best answers and then you tell me that I should be trying to remove something that I don't even see? Ha. Well I doubt that will work. I'm not sure you've even thought it through. I thought all of this was based on wisdom 4,000 years old? And I'm not even being given credit for all of the hard work that I am doing. I think you are just making all of this stuff up.

Hmm... perhaps I need to re-order my list....

Anyhow, armed with my Big List of Things To Remove, I am heading in for the Seder dinner tonight, full of prayers, connections and meaning. And what is the one thing consuming my thoughts? Whether I will eat a larger spoonful of Maror (Horseradish - excruciatingly painful to chew, but as you keep chewing it turns sweet) than last year, and whether I will be able to eat a bigger spoonful than some of the other students.

I can only pray that tonight will be the last night that I carry quite so much Judgement and Pride.

Entering with an Army, leaving with a smile

2010-03-25T19:43:00.003Z

Yes, I've been a bit quiet on the blogging front for the past couple of days. And despite someone throwing a petrol bomb at the front of the flats I live in (hence the police cordon) I am still in one piece. All is quiet on the western front.

Or maybe I just haven't noticed, due to being completely absorbed with preparing for an interview.

I had a brief phone interview last week where I was given details of the job, which involves supporting SQL Based applications. Yeah, I can do that, I thought. I used to run queries all of the time, generating reports. Okay, so not actually in SQL, but on a relational database. Okay, so not actually building queries that join tables, but I understand the concept and the technical knowledge - oh, that just comes so naturally to me. If you looked at my DNA under a microscope, instead of ADGT, you would see little building blocks of TSQL.

"Excellent" said my potential interviewer "We'd love you to come in for an interview, and we'll also give you a SQL Syntax test to see what you know"

"Great", I replied "and who knows, I might even surprise myself on that one"

And so I was feeling fairly confident, verging on cocky. Until I started reading through the online training manuals, that is.

Crap - I don't remember any of this stuff.

So I studied. And I pored. And I took notes. And I invented queries to test myself. And every time I thought I had mastered a subject and returned to it to test my knowledge, I went blank. Not only that, but I was also trying to prepare for the interview itself.

I like interviews like a cat loves a hot bath. After practising a few standard responses (strengths, weakness (who, me?), why I want to work for them, etc) I looked at the competency based questions, (Tell me about a time where you had to solve a really difficult problem. What steps did you take and what was the outcome?) and turned pale because I had gone totally blank once again. I decided that ignorance was bliss and that I would have to trust that on the day everything would turn out for the best.

And today was the day. And it was a nice day. Until half an hour before I had to leave the house, when it starting raining cats and dogs - which was fine until I realised that I had left my umbrella elsewhere. I prayed for the rain to stop. It didn't. I left the house wearing a scarf over my hat and coat, and my nice leather 'business wallet' in a Sainsbury's carrier bag. Cute.

I arrived fifteen minutes early and rang my teacher, as arranged. Now, you may think that this is a strange thing to do when your mind should be set on the immediate task at hand, but I trust in the benefits. My teacher read a portion of the Zohar to me over the phone. "We want you to go in there with an Army." He said. Luckily for me, listening to the Aramaic is enough to receive a download. Suitably charged, I went in to battle.

I was introduced to one of my interviewers and taken in to a small room to sit the SQL Test.

"I have to say, we are still working on this and it's not quite right" he said. "I find some of the questions really hard and I'm a programmer. So just write like fury and do what you can."

Oh, fab.

There were 15 questions. I answered 3 of them partially, and one of them fully. Then I had a stab at writing a few notes on how I would answer question 6. Oddly enough, rather than turning pale and panicking, I laughed. Even the bits of syntax that I was sure that I knew I forgot - so, like, whatever. What I knew was that in the Real World, I would be able to pull all of this together without a hitch. In the Real World, there is something miraculous called 'Online Help', and I am rather good at knowing where to look.

The interview itself went well. The people are nice, the company is very authentic - I would enjoy working there. (Two people after the interview have asked me how many others they were seeing for the role. You know what? That's irrelevant - either I am the best person for the job, or I am not. Either I am meant to be there, or something else is coming).

I was asked multiple competency based questions and again, rather than panic at my total lack of preparation, I simply paused and waited for the words to come. And come they did. I had a lot of help on my side - a pretty good set of troops were at hand. I also had the opportunity to demonstrate my actual knowledge of SQL, by covering the questions on the test and explaining the parts that I couldn't complete. They seemed happy enough.

Anyhow, I will discover the outcome tomorrow. Have I convinced them? I don't know - but I am very happy with how it went. I left feeling light, and with a smile on my face.

In the subway entrance to the tube station, I saw a shabby man sitting cross-legged on the stairs, begging. My instant reaction was "oh I can't be done with this... With all of the build up and what I have done today, I just want to get the train home and eat. I'm not going to dig around in my purse and give him money"and I crossed to the other side of the rail and walked past him.

And as I walked past, I noticed that he was shivering deeply, and huddled over a sign which read "no home or job. Please help me if you can"

An argument started in my head - one voice telling me that I shouldn't be a muppet and give money to beggars, and that it was too late to turn back now - people would think I was mad, or stupid, or both. But the other voice was saying 'How can you just walk past this man? He is a human being, and however he got here, he has feelings too. You might be feeling like your life is on the up - but how can you forget how you were feeling a couple of weeks ago?'

So, halfway down the next set of steps, I stopped and turned back. I was homeless for a while, but I always had a roof over my head. I always knew where my next meal was coming from. Where is his next meal coming from?

I crouched in front of him, amidst the busy commuters, all dying to get home and make dinner, and asked him whether he wanted a coffee. He did. White with sugar. And I bought him a sandwich and a brownie to go with it. His gratitude was genuine and touching - reward enough to me in itself. It put my day in to perspective, my so-called hardships in the shade.

"You're an angel" he said, "an absolute angel."

No, I'm no angel. But I had my army with me.

In the thick of it

2010-03-22T14:34:00.003Z

Life is becoming more interesting by the day. I'm not sure whether the 'hood is going through a bad patch at the moment, or whether it was going through a good patch when I first moved in.

Or perhaps the Universe is just providing me with too many distractions, given that I am procrastinating over two seemingly vital tasks at the moment.

The first is preparing for an interview due at some point this week. I have spent the last six months 'trying' to set up my own business purely to avoid having to justify myself in an interview. I cannot bear the rotten things. "Tell me a time when you solved a difficult problem that required the input of others. How did you go about this and how did you measure the results?" Oh, I don't know, it was all so long ago now.

So I'm reading the questions and thinking 'oh yes, I could probably answer that one' but when I try to practice an answer out loud, some little gremlin comes in and wipes my memory. The mouth moves but not a lot comes out save for 'Uhhm' Not very impressive.

Secondly, the interview involves a test on SQL code. Even in my last role performing relational database queries, I was not using SQL. Luckily I have an online manual to hand. If only any of the syntax would stick. Just when I think I can write a particular function, I look back on something simple like selecting from a table and find that I can recall diddley-squat.

I find myself flipping between tasks and getting nowhere.

Then, of course, as I have been working hard over the past few months on Letting Go of the past, I also appear to have let go of quite a few pounds. So much so, that the trousers for my suit no longer fit. I have to buy a new suit, which means leaving the interview prep for a few hours. Valuable time that although I am clearly not using, I cannot afford to waste.

As if I am not throwing enough rocks in my path, my neighbourhood has decided to add to the distraction.

Last Sunday when I hired a van and moved my stuff in, the street was deserted and quiet. Whereas yesterday was mayhem. What sounded like gangs of kids patrolled the streets, chanting in unison, playing team games which were verging on riots. Somewhere down the road a party was going on. Or maybe someone just fancied blaring out their music loud enough to be heard at the stadium on the other side of White Hart Lane station.

Either it simply wasn't my kind of music, or I am getting old. Oh this modern music - it's just noise to me. BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM WAIL WAIL BOOM. Repeated over and over and over.

In addition to this, given the number of air horns honking for long periods late afternoon, I think there was a football match this weekend. Add that to the regular bursts of police sirens, and it's quite the place to be.

Whatever my excuse, I didn't get an awful lot done.

And so the plan for this morning was to catch up. To focus. To feel more confident at the end of the day. To have my suit in the wardrobe ready to transform me in to a modern professional at a moment's notice.

And again, my focus has wained, and I have found myself flitting between tasks out of fear, when really, it's all so simple: I'm fabulous, give me a job.

The street has been relatively quiet compared to yesterday, with the exception of what sounded like a crazed drug addict screaming his head off and smashing lots of glass outside at around 11am.

So I have no excuse for my lack of progress, but still think that I will feel better once I have bought my new suit. So I start to get ready and glance outside on to the street 4 floors below... and find that leaving the front door is going to be slightly tricky, mainly for the reason that the front door is in the middle of a crime scene, cordoned off with 'POLICE CRIME SCENE DO NOT ENTER' tape.

Oo-kay. So, where was I? Oh yes...

"Tell me about yourself"

"My name is Kabbalah Rookie and I have over six years experience in an IT Service Support environment....."

Spring is Springin', innit.

2010-03-21T12:16:00.002Z

Apart from the obvious increase in temperature from bitter to mild, every year I can always tell when spring is starting to spring when the skin on my face goes to pot.

Every morning for the past week, I have woken with puffy bags under my eyes and small spots surfacing around my chin. And every year it takes a while for me to remember that the same thing happened last year. Every year I closely examine my unusually dull complexion and think "What the f-?" and every year I prod around my sinuses as though I can manually shove the excess fluid back to where it is meant to be.

This year the change in the weather has coincided with moving to a new area, and my symptoms were so severe that I wondered whether I needed any suitcases - the bags under my eyes were pretty extreme. I also wondered whether I was allergic to my new home, or simply just the area.

I wasn't expecting to move to this area. I am living in Tottenham, within a stone's throw of White Hart Lane overground station. The address might state 'Haringey', but it's definitely Tottenham. I was aiming for a more upmarket area, like Muswell Hill or Highgate or Crouch End. Instead, I am in da ghetto, innit.

If there is a good way to learn unconditional love, this has to be it. It is a poor area. The flat I live in is surrounded by Turkish families, unable to speak English, with children who are out on the streets at all hours. Everyone else is black. Or Polish. Or something else. Basically speaking, as a Single White Female, I am the ethnic minority. I am it. I am She. I stand out like a sore thumb. And it scared me at first.

The road to the station - Pretoria Road - is littered with small piles of glass from the side windows of cars, foolishly parked with something potentially removable on view. Young black men saunter up and down, their jeans hanging somewhere around their knees. The first couple of times I walked from the station late at night, I found myself in a rush to get through the front door, uncomfortable with following or being followed, trying rather impossibly to look invisible in my bright purple winter coat.

After the initial culture shock, I opened up. People are people. Everyone has their own story. Despite external appearances and behaviours, we are all human. I decided not to judge - to be friendly to everyone I met. To have no fear.

My first challenge was at the post office, at the front of the queue waiting for two young people to finish their individual transactions at the counter after a riveting conversation on chewing gum ("Yeah, I wanna pay my rent, a'ight? You can take eleven fifty from dis, yeah? Ana haf one pahnd fifty to pay in cash, innit. Oh, an den I want sum cash back, innit. You do dat, right?" Believe me dahlings when I tell you that this is such an education for me). A young (white) guy wearing a dodgy tracksuit was two behind me in the queue. And as the young couple sorted their finances, he got increasingly agitated.

Oo 'eck, I thought, it's all about to kick off. He was hopping from one foot to the other, looking at his watch and grumbling to himself. I opened my mind to the possibility that he had a medical issue which was best not revealed in public. But no. He pushed forwards and tapped me on the arm (RAPE!!! RAPE!!!) "Excuse me, sweet'art, can I go in front of you in the queue? Only I've got one of these" he lifted a trouser leg to reveal an electronic tag "and I need to get home really quick. I'm really sorry, but is that okay?"

Oh. I am mingling with common criminals now. Being in no rush myself, and given that he asked so politely, I allowed him to go first. He thanked me profusely as he left. Whatever he had done to earn the tag, he hadn't lost his manners. The old man behind me in the queue, instead of judging my posh, white, middle-classed (oh if only they knew) ass with a disapproving stare, smiled and raised his eyebrows: The youth of today.

And so I have found I have a choice, and that my attitude affects my experience. Smile, and they smile instantly back. It's not so hard to fit in.

All da same, when ah walk back from da station late at night, yeah, ah fink it's a good fing to be a bit more street - ya know wot ahm sayin'? Coz dey ain't gonna mess wiv me, innit, when ah looks like dis is ma patch, a'ight?

I betcha wondering what happened to me, huh?

2010-03-10T19:51:00.003Z

Hello! It's Me!! I'm still here!

Wow, there's nothing like living out of a bag for 10 days to hamper one's blogging activities!

I'll be brief (because this is a rare opportunity to have a nice cup of tea whilst I am in one spot) and summarise.

Tuesday - 5 days before moving:

Had arranged to see a bedsit which sounded ideal, but was pipped to the post by the girl before me, who was given first refusal. Felt strangely un-bothered by this.

Wednesday - 4 days before moving:

Went from feeling strangely un-bothered, to extreme panic and had an enormous meltdown. Realised that I was completely in denial about moving. Hadn't packed a single box, nor found a place to stay. Could not decide whether to invest time on packing or looking, so did nothing. Very nearly broke down in tears to my teacher (my goodness me, I nearly cried?! who, me?!), who advised that 4 days was more than enough time for something to happen, and that I should start packing.
Bumped in to a friend who immediately offered to help me load the van on Sunday.
Stayed up until 4am.

Thursday - 3 days before moving:

Up at 8am and starting to pack. Uh-oh. This is taking longer than I thought.
22 listings ended on eBay: needed to arrange collection on 4 items of furniture, and post 10 parcels. And box up the rest.

Friday - 2 days before moving.

Early start again, starting to see through time.
Posted eBay items.
Toyed with the idea of sorting out my clothes and the airing cupboard, which resulted in 2 huge bin liners for Charity, and 4 for the dump. And I couldn't put them outside, because it was pouring with rain.
Had a chat with a man in the garden next door and discovered that his wife worked for a charity, and would be happy to take various items of furniture and pots and utensils from the kitchen. He also promised that he would come round on Monday to pick up my enormous bookcases, a couple of tables, and that any small electrical items that I didn't want to keep he would happily run down to the dump. An Angel, surely, out of thin air?
Started to post items on FreeCycle - a website where you can offer things you no longer want and take things that other people no longer want, all for free. Was then tied to the laptop arranging for people to collect these items too...
My friend, Hen Lady, arrived to help me clear out the kitchen and said that she was concerned that I still had so much left to pack. 'Honestly, it's fine', I assured her, then stayed up again until 4am.

Saturday - 1 day before moving.

Up early again.
Most items from FreeCycle and eBay collected by this time, including the sofa, which meant I had nowhere to sit.
Still no idea what to do with the wardrobes. Rats.
Packed 'the office' and separated my clothes in to ones that I could store and ones that I would need for the next couple of weeks. Dismantled the wardrobe at 2am. Went to bed at 4am, feeling a teensy bit tired.

Sunday - Move Day.

Woke up at 8am to the sound of pouring rain. Realised that I had left my umbrella at the Kabbalah Centre. Reminded myself that things could be worse.
Picked up the van at 9am and then continued to pack boxes. The van looked a tad small.
My friend arrived at 11:30, with enthusiasm but little direction, and a bad back. We carried the furniture downstairs, where I received a call from Hen Lady, asking whether I still needed her help. She sounded rather disappointed when I said that we had only just started loading.
1pm, Hen Lady arrives with enthusiasm, focus, and the authority of a Sargent Major. She decided that I should do two trips with the van. Beyond the ability to think for myself, I just nodded.
11pm - two trips to my Dad's workshop (traipsing across a flooded mud-bath of a lawn) I arrived home, exhausted.

Monday - the day of the charity collection.

Or maybe not. I swear I only went out for an hour, and I left a note on the door. And the man didn't come to take away the bookcases, tables or kitchen items. Hmmmm... Never mind, maybe he'll show up tomorrow.
In any event, I am too tired to take action. I was meant to be cleaning the house, but was motionless with exhaustion until 5pm. Started to clean the house and carried on until 4am.

Tuesday - final day of tenancy.

I'm screwed. I have a small van load of items to be collected and no transport. I have an entire house to clean. I'm knackered.
10:30am - Dad rings out of the blue to tell me that he is coming over to help. Between us both we take the items to the dump and clean the house, finishing at 7:30pm. My hands are raw from cleaning.
Dad is the real Angel - what a star.

So here's the thing, I was told that once I let go of my past, big things would start to come in. In the last few days I was giving things away to lighten the load - there is nothing like watching your sofa go down the street on top of a car roof rack 5 minutes after you've been sitting on it to make you realise what you take for granted in life. I was giving so much stuff away that I wasn't really sure what I had left. My life as I knew it simply disappeared.

And for several days I was lost. From the kindness of friends and family (thank you Lulu) I haven't been turfed out on to the street, but with most of my belongings and paperwork being stored in my Dad's workshop, I had a slight panic going on.

And still I wouldn't cry. Still I kept up a front. Still I listened to everyone else telling me that everything would be fine and it would all work out. But deep inside was a voice screaming "YOU HAVE NO JOB, YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO LIVE, YOU ARE NEARLY 40 YEARS OLD AND SINGLE, YOU ARE LIVING OUT OF A FUCKING BAG, FOR GOODNESS SAKES! - HOW IN THE WORLD DID YOU LET IT GET TO THIS?!?!" The reality hit me and all at once I was baffled. How did I let it get to this? Okay, so maybe then I cried a little.

Now let me tell you the good part. The part that teaches me to trust and be patient that the Universe is unfolding as it should. In the past 48 hours I have found a place to stay - for free in the immediate future - until I find the room I am looking for in the area that I live in. This was a chance introduction on Shabbat morning. I will move some of my stuff in this weekend.

On Friday evening, again at Shabbat, I sat next to a woman who said that she knew a guy who ran a company providing IT solutions for not-for-profit companies and charities, and when I was ready, she would have a word with him and mention my name.

Yesterday morning, I received a call out of the blue from the MD of the motivational training company, saying that he had a permanent position open if I was interested. Just like that. No action on my part.

This morning the woman from Friday night rang me to say that she had spoken to her friend and he has a couple of vacancies, and that I should give him a call immediately. Not believing in the remote chance that the vacancy would fit my skills, I casually called him, expecting a short conversation. And guess what... it was a rather longer conversation.

So it may take a little while for the story to truly unfold and things to manifest, but that's not such a bad turnaround, is it?

And if this can happen in ten days, imagine where I will be next year....

The possibilities are endless.

Interesting times

2010-02-22T09:05:00.003Z

So here I am, 6 days from Move day.

Actually, I booked the van for 6 days time, but have to be out in 8 days. Phew! When you put it like that it seems like forever!

Because I still haven't got a clue where I am moving to.

Somehow, in the next 6 days, I have to find a home for the following:

An American Queen sized bed base
Two 7ft x 3 ft bookcases
A two seater sofa
A fridge freezer
A coffee table
A cheap dining table
A 26" flat screen TV (plus TiVo recorder, DVD and Video Recorder, DVD player, Freeview box...)

And possibly:

Two chests of drawers
Two canvas wardrobes
4 boxes of items currently not selling on eBay.

Oh, and Me.

So it's interesting.

I went to view a place the other day, made my best effort to charm the landlord (who lives in the flat) and am due to hear back today whether I am The Chosen One out of all of the people who came to view. The room is part furnished. It would fit my stuff. It is perfectly located. He is very jovial. I think I might be lucky.

Plus when I visualised my Perfect Home and put in my request to the Creator, the house had a modern flushing toilet, amazing shower, and a 5 ring gas hob. Oh, and the landlord has the same taste in wooden furniture (although I didn't actually mention that in my request, but, nice touch - thanks). So it's all just meant to be. Isn't it.

Isn't it? Oh crap.

So I have spent the last couple of days working out how to arrange my newly whittled belongings in to his spare room. Instead of focusing long and hard on finding as many suitable places that I can stay.

So here is where my Certainty comes in to play - I've already booked the van. And if push comes to shove and I have nowhere to go, then it's not going to be that hard to rent some storage for a week or two, let's face it - somebody will let me sleep in their spare room whilst I am still looking.

As for the packing and clearing and moving, the only items actually packed at the moment are the ones posted on eBay, so that they are good to go. If they sell. Everything else is still almost in its place. The reason for this is a dread of the pending chaos - once you start to pack and sort, there are going to be boxes all over the place. And in the middle of all of this, the Lettings Agency keep bringing people round to view the place, reminding me that I have yet to find somewhere to live.

I have only been in once when they have brought people round to view. For one thing, the schoolboy who came to show them round (what, is he on the Youth Training Scheme or something?) didn't bother to knock to see if I was in - just opened the front door and turned bright red when he saw me sitting there. The 'interested' party followed him round the house talking in hushed tones, peering in to cupboards, afraid to say what they actually thought whilst I was sitting there. I could see that the place wasn't for them as soon as they walked in - they're not the Old, Victorian, Crumble-Down, Tumbly-Up House type. They wouldn't last a day with that toilet, which makes all of the valiant flushing sounds in the world, but achieves very little with 9 litres of water. (Don't you know, Mr Toilet, that there are people in the world who are crying out for that 9 litres of water that you are wasting?!)

And it's a pain having people round to view the place - not so much because of the interruption, but more the reminder that I haven't actually found somewhere to live myself, and perhaps instead of going through my bathroom junk to see what I can throw out, I should be surfing the net on the lookout for flatmates??

Anyway, I've finally started. Last night I cleared out 6 bin liners full of junk, which currently has no place to go and is sitting in my living room in front of other things which I have now decided to take to the dump. So I'm going to be tripping over that all day.

And the good news is that there will be no more visitors - they have finally let the house, so the only person to be tripping over stuff will be me.

Of course, I'm taking this as a sign that I will receive a positive call from my new landlord later today.

Or that the Universe is about to kick my butt for being so complacent and putting all of my eggs in to one basket...

I'll let you know which....

Hearing the hard messages

2010-02-11T10:03:00.003Z

The past few days have been spent trying to make some sense of my belongings. Trying to work out what to sell and what to keep, and separating the two in to piles so that a) I can see some floor space and b) I can avoid doing anything truly productive.

On Tuesday I made a huge effort to clear some space and at the end of the evening I was tearful and tired. Why is this so hard?

Yesterday I was working from W's house and still feeling slightly fragile. Unluckily for me, she is the kind of person who doesn't mince her words. Luckily for me, she has the ability to see straight through my actions and work out what is really going on.

It's not easy to hear things that you don't want to hear, although I am grateful that these messages are being delivered by people who truly care.

I explained what I had been up to, that I had been sorting through things but was still stressed because I was moving in just over a couple of weeks and had not found anywhere to live - I hadn't even really started looking, because I just wanted to sort out my stuff.

"No." she said. "You have plenty of people who will come and help you pack your stuff and move you when you find somewhere to live. Think of all of the time and effort that you are spending trying to sell things - to be honest with you, the £400 or so that you will raise is not worth it. You might as well just give it away - it's not worth the effort. You need to focus 100% right now on finding somewhere to live, and much as you don't enjoy sorting through your stuff, it is still easier for you to sit amongst your tat than it is for you to go out and find a place to live"

I sighed. "I guess the fear of moving in to a shared house is bigger than I thought and you're right - I'm afraid that I won't find a house with people I can get along with, or a house where the people like me. I don't want to face that rejection, hence why I am hiding away"

"So whilst you are sitting worrying about all of the things that you don't want, you aren't getting anywhere" she continued "Focus on the great fun you will have, the new life you will be living - never mind your 'stuff', you can buy that all again. I think you'll find that 'Life on the Other Side' really isn't as scary as you think it will be - it's just your imagination"

I wanted to cry - just for the sheer build-up of emotion over the past few days. But I didn't. I started to look on room sharing websites and facing the fear that with the number of unfurnished rooms available, I may have to get rid of more than I had initially planned.

Later in the day, I met with my teacher. I told him what W had said and he seemed totally unconcerned at the limited amount of time I had to find somewhere to live - which boosted my belief that anything and everything is possible. I then told him about my trip to see my Dad over the weekend and the various emotions that arose - not seeking approval, but wanting it all the same, the lack of understanding as to what I had been through which came from a disapproval of my current situation.

The energy of the week is that of Mishpatim - reincarnation. The questions we should be asking the Light are ones of 'show me where the events or relationships in this life have come from past lives' and so I wasn't looking for sympathy or counselling, just an idea of what the issues with my Dad could have meant. And my teacher didn't know, but said that there would be a reason and that I should keep asking.

I said that my Dad kept returning to one subject again and again and again and I couldn't keep him off it. My teacher said "well, once you have the message you need to find a way of dealing with him, of saying 'okay, let's not discuss this now, can we change the subject?'

I laughed out loud.

"What is so funny, you cannot tell me?" my teacher asked.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, so my Dad believes that if you are good at something and can make money at it, then you should do it whether you enjoy it or not. I know he loves me dearly and he worries about me, but he's not interested in me finding something that makes me happy. And I'd told him of my plans - I just need to focus on moving and get everything ready and then I can start looking for work - but he just wouldn't stop. Every five minutes he said "I just think you need to get a job"....

My teacher looked me straight in the eye. "Your father is perfectly correct." he said.

WHAAAAAAAT?????? Run that by me again??

"If you are good at something then that is the Light that you need to bring to the world - it doesn't matter if you enjoy it or not"

"What about fulfilment? What about being happy?" I asked (rather cross at this point).

"Ah, fulfilment is just the Ego. The real fulfilment comes from the Light. The challenges come from the work and that is how you transform. You don't agree with me, no?"

I said that no, I didn't agree. It wasn't what I wanted to hear.

"But this is good" he continued "Whatever your reasons that your father had for saying the things that he said, it doesn't matter whether he knows about spirituality, or has any understanding that this is spiritually correct - he was delivering a prophecy. He was an angel for you at that time. That is why he repeated himself over and over. Whether or not you have heard the message before, and whatever your situation before, I think that if you now go back to doing what you were doing before, things will open up. It is waiting for you. I am so excited about this. Are you not excited? This is wonderful for you!"

My teacher was grinning with glee. I have to say, it was infectious. Although I still didn't like what I was hearing - that he didn't really care either whether I was happy or not, just that I got a job. I considered giving him my Dad's phone number - they would get along so well.

But when I stop to think about it, the things that I was good at in my last job were also the things that I enjoyed. And those same tasks are applicable to what I have recently been doing voluntarily, supporting web site content.

So yes, I am starting to get excited about my new life.

But first I will be focusing on finding somewhere to live...

I just think you need to get a job x1000

2010-02-09T09:03:00.006Z

So here I am, in the throes of preparing to move. There feels like so much to do and I cannot think straight. So much so, in fact, that on Friday night, my brain was buzzing with it all and on Saturday I felt completely wiped.

I am surrounded by a distracting amount of clutter that I cannot see through - things I want to sell, things I want to donate, things I want to keep - all piled up, all messy, no space on any floor. But I was keeping my Certainty - everything is fine, the right place will come up at the right time. And the more apparent resistance I receive, the more I feel as though it is truly going to happen.

Until my Dad came to pick me up Saturday afternoon.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love my Dad to bits and I can see that he loves me. The only reason he gives me a hard time is because he worries about me and wants to know that I am sorted. And to a greater extent, with the exception of everything else that has brought me to where I am today, part of the delay in my decision to change my line of work is due to knowing that my Dad - with his staunch Protestant Work Ethic - just wanted me to 'stick with what I am good at' (because that's what you should do) and earn an honest crust. I have a need for his approval.

He doesn't get the whole spirituality thing. He doesn't see the need for counselling, or positive thinking, or understand the energy of the Universe or all of that fluffy stuff. So for the past 3 years his only line of conversation (when he is not dragging me in to an argument about the European Union - something that he is passionately against) has been around whether or not I have a job.

In fact, one time he even rang me up and stated "Hello, Have you got a job yet?" as his opening line. Hey Dad, I'm very well, thanks, how are you? I replied.

When he arranged to come and pick me up, I explained that I was focusing on moving and doing the work for W, building my CV, ready to earn once I have moved, etc. "You can explain all of this in the car" he said.

So I did. An hour of telling him my plan for the next 3 weeks and my focus thereafter. I said that the aim was to get all of my ducks lined up and as soon as I have moved I could start taking action on finding work - that if W wasn't able to pay me by then I would be going to the agencies. He even took the longer route back to his house so that we could talk more, and during that time I explained briefly how low the last 3 years had taken me, and what state of mind I had been in after the New Year.

I told him what my preparations were for looking for work. Yes, I need to get work. Yes, I need to have income. Yes, I will be looking for work just as soon as I have moved. I was agreeing with him. Yes, Dad, I will be sorting out my finances. Everything is going to be okay.

It made no difference. My Dad just couldn't leave it alone. Here are some extracts of his line of approach over the next 24 hours:

"So tell me more about this Business Gym then."

**KR explains without too much use of the word 'Spirituality'**

"When are they going to start paying you? Couldn't you get a job with them?"

"So you are still going to the Kabbalah Centre. Tell me what that is about"

**KR does her best to wrap Kabbalah 1, 2 and 3 in to a nutshell, to a man who believes that humans are no different than cats, based on the super-intelligent (read: manipulation) of his own cat, without getting in to an argument, and failing**

"Yes," he eventually says "But can't you get a job with them? You spend so much time there, when are they going to start paying you?"

"So what is W's new business all about?"

**KR explains with enthusiasm, even though this was all covered in detail in the car**

"But when is she going to start paying you?"

I think if I had told him that I had taken someone's dog for a walk the other day, he would have asked whether the owner was ready to sign me up for a proper contract, or whether the dog had any pocket money.

Eventually I was on the verge of losing my temper, after not being able to make my point - or rather, I was on the verge of losing my temper because my plan for the next 3 weeks relied heavily on Certainty and Trust, but what he wanted was Evidence. And as I couldn't provide that, and he continually asked for it, I could feel my Certainty being slowly chipped away.

Even after I had finally snapped and shouted "Argh! Dad! Will you just STOP bloody going on about me getting a job! Enough is enough! Let me just bloody focus on moving! Jeez!!" he paused for a couple of seconds, slightly injured at my outburst and said: "Weeelll... I still just think you would be best off finding a proper job"

*sigh*

There is only one way to do this. Get through the next 3 weeks in one piece and prove to him that I knew what I was doing.

It's going to be a long 3 weeks.

Funnily enough, I have not been able to get this Harry Enfield sketch out of my head since he dropped me off at home. (Cannot find it on YouTube - so cannot embed...). Ah, the power of humour...

What do you mean, "nice, bah" ?

2010-02-03T23:02:00.005Z

Visiting the Kabbalah centre introduces you to all kinds of Hebrew phrases. Phrases which eventually become part of your own vocabulary.

Shabbat Shalom (peaceful shabbat)

Chodesh Tov (Good month)

Chag Samear (Happy Holiday)

These have been sliding off my tongue as though part of my native language for several months now. But recently a few others have started to creep in - those not related to moments in the calendar.

When I hear a phrase often enough I eventually ask what it means, rather than drop it in to my sentences in ignorance (something that I have a tendency to do with English! - like "Oh, he's so vacuous!" - I know what I think it means, and it sounds right, but if asked to define it I have no idea...)

One of the phrases is Baruch Hashem! (or 'Praise God!'). Easy enough to remember and use.

Last week, however, I received an email from W which kind of confused me. Her dog had been sick and I'd asked how he was. She replied "He's still in pain but improving. BAH! He'll be fine" and I thought that this was maybe a Yiddish version of the dismissive "Pah!" Pah! Whatev! He'll be fine!

Then this morning I rang my Lettings Agency. Let me make this clear: I am determined to move. I know that this will happen. I don't know how it will happen, or who I will live with - there are still so many questions unanswered and still so many things to sell before I have a 'house share' number of possessions and logistically it does not seem remotely possible - but I am focused on removing all doubt. I'm moving. So I plucked up the courage to call up the agency to give my one month's notice.

"Okay, well you can let us know that you want to move, but we cannot accept your notice until the 25th of February - because you are on a monthly contract and so everything has to be based on the full month. Plus it becomes complicated if you leave partway through the month because then we have to work out the number of days to charge you"

My little internal voice gave a deep sigh of relief. Phew! I cannot move until the 24th of March! I have 3 extra weeks to sell all of my stuff - that's far more realistic! Nothing I can do about it! They can't possibly divide my rent by the number of days in the month to work out how much I owe...

No, no, no, no, no. I have to move. I have to start my new life.

"Okay, well, here's the situation" I said "My financial situation is sooo not good, that if you tried to take a month's rent on the 25th of February, the bank would reject it because the money simply won't be there. So if there is anything that you can do..."

"Let me have a word with your landlord" she replied.

Ten minutes later she called back to confirm that I could leave by the 2nd of March, that there would be six days of rent to pay, and if there were any issues, this could be taken out of my holding deposit.

I emailed W to tell her what I had done. She emailed back:

"BAH! I am so proud of you! Your actions will bring such Light BAH!"

What? BAH!? I am so proud? So is she proud or mocking me? I didn't get it.

And then it clicked - she was abbreviating a term I had started to hear and use on a regular basis:

Bli Ayin Hara (pronounced 'Blee Ein Ha-rah') which means 'No Evil Eye'

It is a phrase of protection which is used (oh so frequently) whenever you put something out there in words that could be jumped all over by any negative forces (which, obviously, are just hanging around waiting for the perfect opportunity to stamp all over your hopes). The last thing you want to do is to tell somebody that they are about to bring such Light, or that everything will work out fine, or they are bound to get the job, or the event is bound to sell out, and have some nasty little gremlin grab hold of the words and stomp all over them, ruining whatever chance they had.

So saying "Your actions will bring such Light! Bli Ayin Hara!" is basically keeping the positive statement true.

And she was also not mocking her dog.

An hour or so later I emailed my teacher to give him an update of how I was getting along - how I felt after the Mikveh, that I was still scanning the Zohar for 30 minutes a day without the need to stand on my head or listen to music, and the certainty I had grasped with the Lettings Agency earlier in the day. I didn't expect a response, but received an email in reply which simply read:

"Nice, bah"

Oy vey, Baruch Hashem that I worked that one out beforehand....

Vessel all sparkly clean

2010-02-02T09:22:00.004Z

Well, almost.

I had a bit of a jam-packed day yesterday, but it did indeed end on a high note. Or is that a wet note? I don't know.

After working all day on fixing the issues with a website, I left W's house just after 4pm to go house hunting with a chap, 'R', who also wants to share a house. He had arrange a tour of 3 properties with an estate agency so that we could see the area, so I set off across London with my laptop bag slung over my shoulder, feeling as if I 'could use a little more energy'.

The estate agent, L, was rather bubbly and young, but very honest, and R was in top form - very keen and full of questions, with his notepad to hand. I let them get on with it.

As we drove to the first location, R started to ask lots of questions - what references do they need? what sort of tenancy duration works best with the landlords, how long had she been working with landlords, how many deals does she seal a week, etc.

As I listened to their conversation in my silent haze, I started to feel the fear grow. They want 3 references, including bank statements and pay slips, committing to a tenancy exceeding 12 months works best with the landlords, then as she started to ask R what he did for a living I could feel my inner voice screaming to be let out of the car. Please don't ask me what I do...

We arrived at the first property, still occupied with tenants in the process of moving. It made my house look tidy and clean by comparison. R 'oohed' and 'aahed' at each of the rooms, said that he loved the kitchen, said that the living room was great, but as soon as I walked in the door I knew that I couldn't live here. This wasn't what I had in mind.

Finally R asked for my first impressions.

"Well, the triangular shaped living room would drive me crazy" I said "and the house feels small. Nice bathroom though" I lied.

We were already running late and halfway towards the second property L discovered that she had a flat tire on the car. Oh good. She dropped us back off at the tube station and I made a 'Note To Self' to get R looking at the properties posted online, to see what bang he could really be getting for his buck.

R and I chatted on the journey back to the centre, and he questioned my need to move before I got a job. The questioning had me confused. I felt as though I had the plan in my head - let go of belongings, move house, continue to volunteer for my friend, build my CV, land a job or a contract. It's all so simple in theory, but when someone questions it, my certainty starts to evaporate. I started to wonder whether handing in my notice on my existing place right now was such a good idea. Perhaps I should wait. Maybe it's not enough time.

At 7pm I helped to register the attendees for the Zohar class - a Zohar class with a huge attendance list solely because it was being delivered by Eitan Yardeni. My head was still in a bit of a whirr, not least because I'd had a conversation with one of the girls when I arrived 12 hours early for the Mikveh to say that she didn't know whether she would be able to lead me through the process because of the big Zohar class. Hence not knowing whether I would have to wait another week.

And I really wanted to do the Mikveh, but I also didn't want to leave Eitan's class, given that he is usually based in New York. I adore Eitan's energy. There is something about it that my soul wants to absorb like a sponge. But not only did I have the Mikveh to contend with, I also knew that sitting on registration meant that I would miss the start of his class too.

I had a lot of letting go to do.

And so I did. As the place began to fill with people, I let go of my doubts. If the Light wants me to do the Mikveh, that is what will happen. And it will allow me to hear whatever message I need to hear from Eitan, no matter how much of his class I miss.

As soon as I let go, my teacher appeared.

"So you are booked for the mikveh tonight, yes?"

I explained the situation - the earlier conversation I'd had, not knowing whether anyone would be free.

"Someone will be free" he said "I'll have a word and make sure of it"

Okay, cool. Bob's your uncle, and Fanny's your aunt, and Kabbalah Rookie is going to the Mikveh tonight.

Ten minutes after the class started, myself and the other girl on registration were told that we could go in. Two seconds after that, we were told that, actually, one of us had to stay outside. Once again, I let go, and volunteered to stay outside. Eitan started talking. I couldn't hear him. I would miss the whole class. I felt the sadness rising, but then let it go.

Instantly one of the other Chevre said that she would take care of registration, and I could go in. Well, how's that for answers?

And the wonderful message from this week was all about Romemut - total appreciation that everything comes from the Light - all of our challenges, all of our blessings. And that the only time we really start to hear the messages is when our Romemut for the Light is high. As soon as we start to believe that the good things that happen are through luck, or another person, or through our own capabilities, or that the healing properties of herbs actually come from the herbs themselves (when it is the Light that provides the healing properties to the herbs - interesting concept) then we lose our Romemut for the Light and head down the path of false idol worship. At which point we stop hearing the messages.

I thought about the situation with moving - how I felt challenged by the financial requirements and work situation from L, how I felt that R didn't really have the same idea of moving as I had, how I questioned my need to move first and start a new life after. It's all irrelevant. The perfect house is already there, the third flatmate is waiting to be discovered, the money to cover the deposit will be found, and there are ways of getting rid of my belongings if I need to change my plans and move in to a shared house with a furnished room.

I will set my focus, take action, and the rest will come from the Light, challenges and all.

The Mikveh process was interesting - I felt slightly rushed and as a result came out of the pre-Mikveh shower realising that I hadn't focused for one second on what negativity I wanted to cleanse. It was strange to be naked in a pool with a Chevre standing at the side talking me through the prayers and meditations. But in the midst of questioning whether I had just screwed up the process by not being 'in the zone' and even questioning the process itself, I remembered Romemut and I also remembered the power of the New Year's Eve burning - what I was tapping in to. And as I ducked under the water, I allowed the Light to do its work.

So I may not have heard everything that Eitan had to say, but I definitely heard what I needed to hear.

And despite being awake and having such a busy day, I travelled home on the train with a buzz of serenity.

Everything is going to be just fine, after all.

I'm trying to do the Mikveh, honest!

2010-02-01T12:13:00.003Z

A month or so ago when my mood hit its all time low (was that after burning too much stuff or after taking mind-blowing pills? I can't remember) my teacher advised that the best kabbalistic processes to follow at this moment in time when my vessel is limited, blocked and full of crap (not that he actually used these words of course, although he wouldn't look me in the eye when he used the words "small vessel") was to scan the Zohar for 30 minutes a day, and start performing regular Mikveh to cleanse.

Now, I've followed the Mikveh process twice before. Once in a local swimming pool and once at the natural pond in East Hampstead - but now that I have been given full advice on how to perform the Mikveh, I feel that I can truly benefit.

My teacher was very interested in telling me everything I needed to know about the consciousness of using the Mikveh and gave me as much information as he could.

The Mikveh is open to women on a Monday
You need to remove all jewellery and be wearing no makeup, deodorant, etc
The first immersion should be performed with the eyes and mouth open
The consciousness should be one of re-birth - returning to the embryo state, oh and requesting before entering the Mikveh that your Ego is left at the door.

Men and women do not discuss the technicalities of the Mikveh as a general rule - it seems to be a very private thing. Probably because it also requires consideration of the menstrual cycle - and we all know how much men love to discuss periods. (And I know that this was wrong, but when my teacher said "And of course you cannot do this when you have your period and you don't need to discuss this with me - you can discuss this with one of the girls if you like" I was so tempted to say "Oh I don't mind, really, let me give you all of the detail..." just to see the look on his face.)

Anyhow, so for the past few weeks my teacher has been tentatively asking whether I had booked the mikveh and what with one thing and another, I said no. And then when I said that I planned to do the mikveh next Monday (i.e. today) he asked me whether I had already booked it. Book the mikveh? Nobody told me this before. He also suggested that perhaps for the first time one of the women from the centre should come in with me (in to the room, not the mikveh) and walk me through the process.

I thought that this was a very good idea. And it gave me the opportunity to ask all of the questions that I had really been itching to ask, like:

Do I need to bring my own towel?
Are there hairdryers?
Is the water in the Mikveh cold?

Honestly - nobody thinks to tell you these things.

So, anyway, I booked the Mikveh for today. I was offered 8, 8:30 or 9. Probably 9 was the best time, because it takes an hour and a half to get in on the train, after which I could head to W's house to work for the day, so I booked it.

After a lazy day yesterday I couldn't get to sleep. Must get up early. Must get up early. My head ran through the checklist one last time:

Laptop bag packed: check.
Make-up bag packed: check.
Clothes laid out ready for the morning: check.
Belly-button ring removed for the first time in 13 years: check.
Contact lens case and glasses packed (so that I didn't lose my lenses during the first immersion and have to grope my way home on the tube): check.
Alarm set for 6am: check.

I looked at the clock: 2:30 am. *sigh* Only another 3 1/2 hours to SLEEEEEP-why-can't-I-SLEEP?!.

Surprisingly I woke feeling reasonably refreshed at 6am, got up, showered, washed my hair and dried it without adding any product. Left the house without make-up. Patiently waited for the delayed trains to arrive. Marched swiftly down to the centre just in time for my appointment. I was ready.

There was just one tiny little detail that somehow had escaped me. At no point when I asked all of the stupid questions or booked my appointment did I think to check one crucial point:

Is that 9 in the morning? Or 9 at night?

I was 12 hours early.

If I am lucky, I will get to visit the mikveh tonight. And if not, then this dirty, small, contaminated vessel might have to wait another week.

Oh well - you cannot say that I wasn't willing...

The Full Shabbang

2010-01-31T11:07:00.003Z

Or rather, Kabbalah Rookie's first full Shabbat.

Overheard in a Starbucks on Saturday morning.

Woman 1: "...so then I only found out after six weeks of eating sushi three times a day that it really isn't a good idea to have raw fish more than 3 times a week due to the mercury levels"

Woman 2: "Yeah, but I bet you knew what the temperature was just by stepping out of the house..."

It was funny at the time.

Okay, so after getting a bashing from my teacher about being religious in my practice of Shabbat because I hadn't read the book on Shabbat, I bought the book. And saw what I had been missing out on. The energy available to everyone from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday is quite phenomenal and awareness of how to connect to that energy is key.

So I don't quite get it. I can't remember the significance of every prayer and meal and song. But with a better understanding from reading the book and a desire for more energy to get me through the week, I booked both the Friday dinner and Saturday lunch and arranged to sleep on a friend's sofa for the night.

My friend - W - was taking other 'non-Kabbalah' friends to the Friday night Shabbat dinner, and she prepared them as best she could. "Okay, so the men will be on one side of the room, and most of them will be wearing white. You will hear a lot of people greeting you with Shabbat Shalom, which basically means 'peaceful shabbat'. And if you can't follow the songs, mouth the word 'bubblegum' over and over and just try and enjoy yourselves"

It is so long since I have been to a Friday night shabbat - or any shabbat service for that matter. Or indeed any large gathering of people at the centre. Or, actually, any large gathering of people full stop. And so I was feeling a little bit of trepidation - a little bit of fear at being overwhelmed. A teensy concern that the question most on people's lips would be "so what happened to you? Where have you been?" As though my absence from the centre indicated a lack of devotion and would somehow create a zone of exclusion.

We arrived late - the first song had already started - and I found myself sitting with strangers at the back of the room, without a song book to hand. I started to feel a little disjointed. A little bit "I don't really feel as though I am meant to be here. I don't really want to be around lots of people."

I set my focus on raising my energy. And a wonderful thing happened. Not only did many of my 'friends' find me after the connection and before the meal, but I was also approached by people I had seen at shabbat services for over a year who I had never really spoken to and they greeted me with a surprising warmth. I spent the rest of the evening talking to and hugging people. And not just perfunctory 'mwah-mwah' pecks on the cheek, but hugs filled with such warmth and love that they brought tears to my eyes. I did indeed feel overwhelmed - but how nice to feel overwhelmed with joy for a change. Where did all of this love come from?

I questioned W as we left the centre.

"What you don't realise" she explained "is that we have a really strong community here in London and your energy is really important to the centre. And even though these people have never spoken to you before, they've missed your energy without even realising it. And now that you're back, they've gravitated towards something that they have been missing"

Wow. Okay.

W's friend gave his feedback on the evening as we travelled home in the cab.

"The songs after the meal all sounded the same to me. That was the funniest part of the evening - it was like

"Song Number 12!" "La laaa la-la-la la laaaa la-la-la-laaa laaa..."

"Song Number 32!" (deep inhalation) "La laaa la-la-la la laaaa la-la-la-laaa laaa..."

"Song Number 21!" (inhale and pause) "La laaa la-la-la la laaaa la-la-la-laaa laaa..."

"Song Number 9!" (even longer pause to build the suspense) "La laaa la-la-la la laaaa la-la-la-laaa laaa..."

Each rendition of song he la'd to the tune of 'Hava Nagila', the song played at Jewish weddings - nothing like what was actually sung - but this made the story even funnier as he told it. We laughed all of the way back to W's house.

I slept the best I could, on a short sofa. Saturday morning arrived and everyone could have used a little more sleep.

Other people were stopping at W's, hence why I was on the sofa. One couple I had seen around a lot but never spoken to, and this gave us the opportunity to finally talk to them. It's surprising what an impression I've made. Both of them said individually:

"The one thing I really remember about you is from the one shabbat where Marcus wanted to know the names of the two old men who sit on the balcony in The Muppet Show, and you were the only person who knew. What were their names again? And how did you know that?"

Hey, what can I say - Statler and Waldorf. A small gem of useless information gained through repeated playing of the Muppet Show 2 album.... I really know how to make an impression...

At the service on Saturday, I reconnected with a couple of women who I had lost touch with during my two month visit from Leonardo. More hugs were exchanged. In fact, I couldn't stop hugging. They say that you need four hugs a day for survival - I think in this one weekend I have stocked up for the entire month. It was hug-tastic.

The prayers after the second meal are long and hard to follow. The parts that held a tune I sang along with. And the rest of the time I mouthed 'bubblegum'. Hey, this really works. Good tip.

Lunch ended at half past three, at which point I remembered that the trains were not running. In a daze from the energy of a full shabbat and barely able to keep my eyes open, I made my way to Liverpool Street and caught a bus to Stansted, carrying the warmth of the weekend home to my little, cold house.

And then curled up on my even-shorter sofa, I slept like a baby.

The Jeggings

2010-01-29T17:46:00.004Z

From the title you may wonder what spiritual insight I am going to weave in to a blog post on jeggings. Stop wondering. I'm not. I just wanted a light-hearted whinge for a change.

Since the dragon re-appeared in my life shortly before Christmas (oh, and I've decided to stick with the Titanic theme and nickname him Leonardo - he is 'hot' after all) one of the things I decided to further punish myself with was to stop eating.

I find that depressives tend to fall in to one of two categories - those who get low and stuff their faces with chocolate and ice-cream, and those who get low and turn pale at the thought of the merest of morsels passing through their lips. I fall in to the second category. I drink lots of cups of tea, smoke copious numbers of cigarettes and lounge around looking wan and pale. And after a few weeks I realise that I am fitting in to clothes that I was close to throwing away.

So I've lost a bit of weight. The interesting thing about this is a phenomenon called Body Dysmorphia - people start pestering me to eat, telling me that I have clearly lost weight, my clothes start to hang off me, but in the mirror I cannot see the difference - I look exactly the same. Sometimes the 5 senses defy all logic.

Well, you know what they say: "Anorexics, when your knees are bigger than your thighs, start eating cake." And believe me, I'm not quite there yet. Not with my thighs.

Anyhow, I digress. With the January sales in full swing, I decided a few weeks ago that it was the right time to buy some new clothes, given that the clothes that were hanging off me were also falling apart. Call it one small step to boosting my Ego, if you will. The only thing worse than being depressed is being depressed and looking like a tramp.

So I went shopping. I found some cheap trousers in Uniqlo and took my usual waist size to the changing rooms. Oh. Big gaps around the waist. I delighted in the fact that I needed a smaller size, but after buying them felt rather sad that I was only going to fit in to them for a limited amount of time. But after making one purchase, I got the bug, and soon I had a few new outfits all fitting the new teeny-tiny me (surely someone marked the sizes up wrong?) All at bargain prices. Marvellous.

Only one item of clothing was missing to go with the tight, bright sweater dresses which looked awful over trousers: Jeggings.

I decided to shop online and ran a search on eBay. There were jeggings and leggings of various colours and prices. And me? Rather foolishly I went for the cheap option.

"Great Quality!" They promised.

"Fantastic value!" They boasted.

"These items have a lot of stretch, so choose a size smaller" They advised.

I looked at the sizing - no problem with the width, but the length was designed for someone no taller than 5'5". And I am a shade over 5'6". Hmmm. With trepidation and visions of waltzing down the street half-mast, I clicked "Buy Now", deciding that they were cheap enough to take the risk.

When they arrived I realised that I needn't have worried about the length. Each pair are long enough to completely cover my feet, and probably someone else's feet as well (if you're in to that kind of sharing).

But what they make up for in length, they lose in quality. Oh, they have stretch alright. Quite frankly I've seen more resistance in candy floss. I've worn thicker tights. My net curtains are less transparent.

I can get away with wearing them. Just. Unfortunately I have the feeling that these will probably be the last things I grow out of...

The Lost Art of Back-Combing

2010-01-27T16:00:00.005Z

Life is starting to get busy, which is a good thing, though my mind is not used to being quite so occupied and is begging for its own time again. Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.

Once again, I missed Shabbat, but this time rather than being wasted on drugs, it was in pursuit of pure blast-from-the-past fun. On Saturday morning I caught the train back up to Newcastle, looking forward to celebrating my Longest-Best-Friend's (LBF) 40th Birthday, in pure 80's style.

Although, isn't the phrase 'pure 80's style' a contradiction of terms?

I don't care. I was ready. I bought the super-skinny fit jeans, the "Choose Life" t-shirt with day-glo pink letters, the vibrant pink leg-warmers and sweatbands. I was almost set. Except for the hair.

I pondered the options. My fringe was too long for a purdy cut (circa 1981, with a fringe that with enough hairspray could be lifted free from my forehead like a bird's wing) and it was entirely the wrong shape for a mullet (circa 1983, all photographic evidence recently destroyed). The fringe was too short for a New Romantics "I can't see where I am going" flop and I ran out of time to find a wig.

I was still none the wiser when the train pulled in to Newcastle station. And then my LBF arrived in the car fresh from the hairdressers and the answer was clear - a can of hairspray and a comb.

It's amazing what you can do with a can of hairspray and a comb. I didn't realise my hair could ever get so big - I hadn't back-combed for years. It was a moment to remember as my usually lifeless hair grew in to a style of Banarama proportions.

My LBF had hired a DJ for the night and he played nothing but songs from the 80's. Every time I tried to leave the dance floor, another song would begin, to the cries of "Oh My God! This is a Classic! I'd forgotten all about this!" I danced for 5 hours. The hair survived, losing maybe an inch in height by the time this photo was taken: (that's me in the middle, LBF on the right, LBF's husband on the left dressed as Vivian from the Young Ones)

I wish I had taken more photos, but what's a party girl to do, but dance? Siouxsie Sioux made an appearance, Adam Ant showed up, Limahl from Kajagoogoo, Whitney Houston, Madonna, Kevin Keegan, Del Boy and Morrisey... even the Green Cross Code Man (although I was sure that he was from the seventies - but who cares - the outfit was hysterical). There were shell suits and shoulder pads, plastic beads and legwarmers as far as the eye could see. And most importantly, LBF had a fantastic evening.

Back in the "real world" I had the strangest meeting with my teacher yesterday. After 2 months of depression, facing fears, major realisations, trips in to space, energy pouring out of my spine, I went in to yesterday's meeting not knowing quite what to expect.

He asked me for an update on moving. I told him. He asked me for an update on work. I told him. Then he said: "So, anything else you want to talk about? Anything else on your mind?"

Me: "Errrrmmmm (surely there must be something bugging me?) .... No, I don't think so?"

Teacher: "You sure? Because if not we can study something. Nothing? Nothing that you want to ask?"

Me: "Errrmmm, noooo, not really. I can make something up if it helps?"

Teacher: "No, I don't think we need to go there". He laughed, and went to fetch the Days of Power.

So there is a part of me that is a little bewildered - a little shell-shocked, perhaps, at not really knowing where I am. The past few months came out of the blue and took my legs away, took me to a place that I couldn't control. And now I feel like moving forwards again, ready to start making progress, but I feel as though I am tiptoeing away from a Dragon's Lair, wondering if I have killed the beast or whether it is just sleeping. As if at some point soon I might once again feel its breath on the back of my neck and feel the horror of going under once more.

Well, I can't hang around this cave all day, waiting for him to stir. Dragons are far more likely to wake up if you stare at them. Out in to the wilderness I go, comb and spray at the ready...

Filling the Vessel

2010-01-22T13:24:00.003Z

The past couple of days have tested my boundaries. It is only when things start to come in that we understand the size of our vessel - what we are able to receive.

On Monday night I was surprised at how low my energy reserves had become - how long it was taking for the drugs to move out of my system. Unable to properly take care of myself and having no-one around to take control of the situation for me, I was in a downwards spiral. I needed energy to prepare food to give me more energy, and very little energy to prepare it. Instead of bouncing back from my trip in to space, I was getting weaker by the hour.

At the eleventh hour (or rather, the ninth hour), I summoned the energy to sling two chicken quarters in to the oven. By ten-fifteen, I had enough protein in my system to turn things around.

On Tuesday I travelled in to London to stay at W's house. It took almost the entire day to prepare and pack, and the evening was spent with salad and steak and good conversation. I felt better - more alive to be around people - although Tuesday night was restless and I had a couple of vivid hallucinations in amongst a few hours of hot and cold sweats. Nice.

On Wednesday, W was out for the day. I started to work through some issues that needed to be resolved on our website, first from her house, and later from the centre itself. It was strange to be around people again, to answer 'How are you?' and 'I haven't seen you for ages, where have you been?' with 'Yes, I'm good, thanks. I feel as though I've been away for ages - I've been busy and plus the weather didn't help with the trains...' More lies. More cover up. More feeling this grinding sense that I had been living in a parallel universe that I could not reveal to other people.

By the end of the day, my head was pounding from overload. I need to rest. I'm not ready for this. I need to back off, back to my solitude. I went to bed early, certain that I was ready to pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow, but found that the opposite was true - an even worse night of hot and cold sweats and a feeling of no sleep at all.

Thursday morning arrived early - 5:45 to be precise - enough time to make myself presentable for registering attendees for the Business Gym. I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror - triple bags under the eyes which were virtually closed from puffiness, and a dark bruise along the inside of one eye. I looked as though I had gone at least one round with Mike Tyson, but it felt like ten. Thank heavens for make-up. By the time I had finished getting ready, my presentation was passable.

The Business Gym was regretfully low on attendance - a shame for those who missed it because the seminar (I heard) was incredible - but it did make the registration process a little easier to handle. Usually I am impatient to sit in on as much of the seminars as possible, but this time I held back from being around people, easing myself back in to life gently, avoiding burnout.

I stuck to one-on-one conversations with the people around me, and little by little, the Light started to come in. I had a conversation with a friend who listened to my recent experiences and then shared that she too had moments of being around people when she felt detached and unsure of whether she was in control of her next reaction. And I thought that was just me. We invented a code-word - "fairies" (as in "away with the..") to support each other at future events.

I was then approached by another volunteer who wants to move in to London and asked if I was interested in sharing a flat. He wasn't planning to move until April, but when I mentioned that I needed to move in the next month or so, he said that this would be fine. It's an option to consider over the next few days.

After the seminar I then caught up with another good friend over coffee and started to feel a little more at ease with what I had been through. She asked whether she could pay me to teach her how to sell on eBay, sometime soon. We discussed each other's businesses and self esteem. I felt less and less alone in my thoughts, less stranded in my other world and less as though I was repeating old patterns. There are people to share with, to help me to grow stronger, and I have ways of helping them too.

Following this, I bought some new perfume, and a pair of jeans. Eventually I made my way back to W's, where I was introduced to her new business partner and we discussed how I could help out with setting up their business. I committed to two days a week - they were thrilled. And after looking at their new website and talking with them for a while, I started to feel more valuable in what I could contribute. I started to see my CV coming together by the end of next week. I started to see things coming in. I started to feel excited again.

And last night, home and full of new challenges, I slept like a log.

Today the weather is miserable - steady rain and dark skies. And all I can see is the Light behind it.

Down but not Out

2010-01-18T12:17:00.004Z

Last night was a little unexpected. Perhaps it was the 30 hours of being a space cadet that threw my clock out of balance, perhaps it is because I am not too good at taking care of myself when I am sick and haven't eaten properly for weeks or perhaps the drugs are having one last laugh as they leave my system.

Whatever the reason, I didn't sleep. Not what I would consider sleep.

As my head hit the pillow last night, my mind started to whirr in to overdrive, excited to be back once more, creatively planning. I spent at least four hours building and delivering a one-hour talk on overcoming fear, adding new comments as I went over and over the scenario, injecting a little humour here and there, watching the audience respond, receiving compliments after. Man, I was good. I was lit up. It's a shame that I felt too exhausted to write any of it down, although it is still there somewhere, waiting to be revealed.

For these four hours I felt hot. My feet were burning. I didn't have the wherewithal to poke them out from under the duvet.

Then at 3am as my inner voice finally started to shut-the-fuck-up, the heat turned in to a cold sweat - ripples of ice darting out from my spine, the slightest influx of air triggering a wave of shivers.

So this morning I feel physically vague. Transparent. Limp.

I spoke to my friend and she sounded disappointed once more, as though I was giving up. And I'm not giving up, I just don't have the energy to take action today, which is frustrating. She started to give me a lecture, full of good intention, about how I needed to start planning my day, dressing as though I was going to work, putting on my make-up, getting back in the swing of things. And for a second I started to resent her advice.

But then she said "What always helps me is to get outside for a bit - get some fresh air. Why don't you go for a walk, then come home and have some lunch, then plan a 2 hour nap, then maybe at 4pm go for a little walk again? At least it gives you a plan" And I instantly forgave her. A walk and a nap and a bit of lunch I can manage.

Although it won't be so much of a walk, as a float, I think. Looking at my reflection in the mirror as I dried my hair reminded me of the wax-fleshed outpatients in Philip Larkin's poem "Toads Revisited". My skin is somewhat pallid, the bags under my eyes hard to conceal.

I stood in the kitchen, feeling light as a feather, swaying gently from side to side as my tea brewed just so I could feel the floor beneath my feet, just to confirm that I was still here. I feel as though the slightest breeze through the window might carry me away, like a husk.

So my body is having one last protest, wanting to stay sick, waiting for the Pity Party.

But my mind... my mind is still in the future, tasting the possibilities, waiting for my body to catch up.

We've got work to do.

Rising from the Ashes...

2010-01-17T16:09:00.003Z

Okay, so I'm back. Back to reality, albeit that reality is a clever illusion in itself.

The last few weeks have been painful. On a couple of occasions I hit a place so low that I was no longer in control, a depression so deep that I could no longer think, that I no longer recognised myself. I was confused - not knowing how to get to where I wanted to be, or become who I am here to be. Not even knowing whether I understood why I was here.

Confusion is an excellent place from which to transform. When you think that you know the answers - guess what? Most of the time, you're wrong. If you think that you are in control of your life and hold on to the outcome with both hands, you are often closed to other possibilities.

There are lessons to be learned from every situation - no matter how painful. Every experience is valuable. I once heard a saying "It doesn't matter how many plans you make for your life, God has a bigger plan". It helps to explain all of the times where we experience something that we didn't expect (which we can only see the reason for when joining the dots backwards) and it helps me to trust that every diversion that comes in to my life is giving me something that I need - something that I can use in the future.

Sometimes we are given challenges or pain so that we can be better prepared for future events.

And sometimes we are taken to new depths of pain because we simply aren't listening to the messages.

I was hearing the messages, but not taking them seriously. So the Light has taken me to a level of pain that I could not ignore - from which I could not not change. I was dragging my heels and it gave me a damn good kicking.

I have learned so much about myself over the past 3 weeks that the pain has been worthwhile - a great wake-up call - a baptism of fire.

I've learned that 10mg of Citalopram is enough to send me crazy for 30 hours.

I've learned that trying to apply make-up 5 hours after taking 10mg of Citalopram is only recommended when applying for a job in the circus.

I've learned to keep a carton of UHT milk in the cupboard at all times for emergencies.

Oh, and to keep the chocolate supplies high.

Okay, so I jest. But seriously, what have I learned?

I've identified that my pain is guilt, and that I have carried that guilt with me through to the present in so many ways. I feel guilty about my current situation - about not working for nearly 3 years, accepting benefits, watching my savings disappear, getting myself in to 'this mess', feeling so ashamed over what I am currently not doing that I don't want to allow anyone else to see it. This has prevented me from writing my CV this week - because how, exactly, do I justify how I am currently spending my time? I have distanced myself from other people, and was too afraid of failure to step up to the plate, or accept help. I've been looking for a rescuer all my life - someone else who will look after me and protect my feelings - someone who would step in and solve all of my problems for me, to take me out of this mess without me having to face any challenges.

And many more other things besides. But the amazing thing is, that as soon as I was put into a situation where these messages could no longer be ignored and I accepted them and allowed them to be, wondrous things have started to happen.

A good friend of mine has asked me for my help. She has just created a new business and needs someone to start promoting it. Unpaid at first, until the business starts making money. There is also so much that needs to be done with the Business Gym website. All of these things can be done from the comfort of my own living room, but she insists that I need to get out of my house and be around other people. I need structure, to start with, and less of my own company.

At first glance you might wonder if this is a wise move - to be spending so much time in unpaid work when I should be looking for a job - and I shied away from her offer last week. Now I have realised what a perfect opportunity this is. This is the interim. Not only is it going to get me back in the flow of having commitments and structure, it will also give me something to put on my CV. What am I working on at the moment? Well, I'm managing this website... administering this business...

My friend also has the gift of being able to see the potential in people, and previous experience of working with me, which she said was a pleasure. It's nice to be reminded of this from time to time.

I sense that I have learned enough to move on - and that everything is starting to fall in to place. The next dot is clearly illuminated and I can almost see the dots beyond it starting to spark in anticipation.

I've no idea what the Picture is yet, but I know that it is going to be Big.

... and Kansas went bye-bye

2010-01-16T21:38:00.004Z

Ten years ago I was depressed. I was on student placement for a major pharma as part of my IT degree, my dog had just died, I had split up with a long term partner and felt that, as a mature student, I didn't quite fit in with the younger flat mates who shared my apartment block.

I went to the doctor. She prescribed anti-depressants. Finally, I thought, someone who has listened. I picked up a pack of 20mg Paroxetine tablets and took the first one that day, Friday lunchtime.

Night-time was a little bit strange. I felt strangely uncomfortably in my own skin, unable to lie still, kind of.. wriggly. I couldn't sleep. Saturday came. I took the second pill. And started to feel a little bit spaced out, but given that I didn't have anything particular to focus on, I relaxed for the day.

By the time I went to bed Saturday night, I suspected that something wasn't quite right, but couldn't work it out. I felt confused. My legs were in continual movement, as though trying to walk me out of the bed. My hands flexed and clenched constantly. My spine arched. My head buzzed. And every time I tried to close my eyelids, they snapped open again after a few seconds. I writhed and contorted, and eventually fell asleep.

On Sunday I was meant to drive to my Mum's, 35 minutes away. I felt a bit woozy, as though I couldn't focus, but matched it to the same kind of feeling that you get after a drunken night out and aren't sure whether you are fit to drive. Putting it down to tiredness, I took a third pill, left the house, started the car, and started driving. 30 seconds down the road and I realised that things were wrong - I couldn't read any of the road signs and didn't know where I was. My spatial awareness was gone. I couldn't remember what side of the road I was meant to be on, how to change gear, what way to go round the roundabout.

In short, I was completely off my face. I don't know how I got the car home in one piece, but somehow I did, and the nightmare began to unfold.

My pupils were blown so wide that it was barely possible to see that my irises were blue. On one occasion I looked in a mirror and thought I saw someone else looking back from behind my eyes, which led to the delusion that I must be possessed. I avoided the mirror from then on. My short term memory disappeared completely - so much so, that I couldn't read. By the end of each sentence, I had forgotten the beginning. I had a continual script running in my head, trying to calm myself down, trying to focus on something - anything - that kept the panic away.

"Neighbours is on in a minute. Neighbours is on in a minute. Neighbours is on in a minute. Oh... I'm watching Neighbours. This is Neighbours. Neighbours is on. I'm watching Neighbours. Neighbours is on in a minute. No, I'm watching it. This is Neighbours".

Making a cup of tea was virtually impossible - by the time I had remembered that I was making a cup of tea, the water was back off the boil, or the tea bag stewed. When I did succeed I forgot I had made it and the tea went cold.

I sat for hours, hands wringing, rocking back and forth on the couch like a mental patient, pupils blown, face drawn. My flat-mate was totally freaked and apart from checking that I was still alive, spent most of her time giving me a wide berth. And I can't blame her - I had completely lost it: I was a barn-pot, a fruit-loop, two sandwiches short of a picnic. Totally and utterly barmy.

The most frightening thing about this entire episode wasn't that I had lost my mind, but that I thought I would never get it back.

It was another 5 days before I was capable of crossing the road to reach the doctor's surgery, where I tried to explain the sheer horror of my experience. She laughed and said "Oh dear, I think you could say that these didn't agree with you then! Do you want me to try you on another brand? Or see how you go?" I opted for the latter, deciding that no matter how depressed I felt, it was nothing compared to the last eight days. Anything was better than that.

But this Friday I decided to give the pills another go. Just not the same pills. If I could find something that would keep me from hitting a low whilst I sorted myself out, all would be well. It was sensible, surely, to accept medical help to sort out a medical condition?

I talked to the doctor and explained my previous experience. She suggested I research my findings and come back in two weeks, but I didn't want to wait two weeks. She printed out some generic information on SSRI's and Tricyclic anti-depressants, written for total morons (and virtually identical) and then at the last minute prescribed Citalopram, 20mg.

When I got home, I started to search the Internet and was instantly alarmed - according to Wikipedia (and this document did look very scientific), both Paroxetine (Px) and Citalopram (Cp) are Pgp Substrates and if one does not work, the other is not an option. I expanded my research and found a White Paper on treatment of patients with Cp who had previously reacted to Px - and the results were positive. I looked at message boards to read other's experiences, and all looked well.

Feeling slightly more assured, I took half a tablet - 10mg - as prescribed, and carried on with my day. Everything was going to be fine. There will be no side effects.

Within ten minutes, I had a strong metallic taste in my mouth. No problem. My heart was pounding a little, but not enough to cause concern. I made myself something to eat, and couldn't finish it. I started to get icy cold shivers down my spine and the back of my arms, despite just having had a hot meal, having the heating on and wearing several layers. The shivers turned in to sharp goosebumps. Even so, it wasn't getting in the way of my day. Then I started to feel a little bit drowsy - a little bit spaced - again, nothing to panic about. But I decided to contact NHS Direct and ask them a few questions.

They were very good. The initial health adviser had no training whatsoever and could only tell me that Px and Cp were SSRI's, but she referred me to the www.mind.org.uk (mental health) website and ask if I wanted a pharmacist to contact me. I said yes.

I visited the Mind website and downloaded the Patient Information Leaflets for both Px and Cp, and it was here that I made an alarming discovery with reference to side effects:

Likely to affect up to 1 in every 10,000 people:

If you have some or all of the following symptoms you may have something called serotonin syndrome. The symptoms include: feeling confused, feeling restless, sweating, shaking, shivering, hallucinations (strange visions or sounds), sudden jerks of the muscles or a fast heartbeat. If you feel like this contact your doctor.

I started to research Serotonin Syndrome and for the first time realised that this is what I'd had ten years ago. Thank goodness that I'd stopped at 3 pills - I'd had every symptom except the high fever, coma and death. What angers me is that the first doctor took this so lightly and made no note on my medical records - or reported this back to the clinical teams.

When the pharmacist rang, I gave her this information, and she informed me that Cp and Px were very different drugs and that there was no reason why I should react in the same way. But given that I had some odd symptoms, perhaps I should call my doctor. It was already too late as the surgery was closed, so I decided to call on Monday. And anyway, I felt a little spaced, but conversant. Although it did feel as though somebody else was actually having the conversation while I sat by and listened in.

Ten minutes later I started to get ready for my evening out - it was the New Moon of Aquarius and Friday Night Shabbat all rolled in to one. I was really looking forward to it. But when I tried to decide what to wear, I couldn't make a decision for toffee. I couldn't even remember what I had chosen, kept forgetting what I had and several times forgot what I was doing altogether. I would pick up a pair of trousers and then think "what am I mean to be doing with these?"

With time running short, I threw an outfit together, then impatiently tried to apply some make up. I'm going to miss this train. What is wrong with me? I applied foundation, powder and mascara and stood back to review my progress. It looked as though it had been applied by a chimp. An untrained chimp. I felt as though I had just downed ten glasses of wine - and if you knew my tolerance for wine, you would realise that this was ten too many.

Once again I was completely gone. I had a high pitched tone ringing round my ears and felt dizzy and disassociated from everything around me. I stumbled downstairs and rang my friend and explained that I wouldn't be able to make it. I laughed about it, said that I couldn't believe how I was feeling - that this had happened again. There was a voice inside saying "Why are you laughing? This isn't funny - you're going to miss a fabulous night out" but I couldn't help it. I felt as though I was halfway through a really good night out already, and it was even funnier because someone kept moving the floor.

Somehow I managed to make some pasta, checking, double-checking and triple-checking that I switched the hobs off afterwards.

And today... well, today I just let go of any attempt to gain control, because it wasn't in my hands. Dorothy was caught in the hurricane. Kansas went bye-bye. So I lay in bed, sometimes catching a song from the radio, most of the time floating around another dimension altogether. A few times I shuffled down to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. I even read a few pages of a book, although along with all of the conversations I have had over the past day, I can't remember anything - what I read, who I've spoken to, what I said to whom.

Slowly as the evening has worn on, the tablet has started to wear off.

At least this time I knew that at some point, I would be able to click my red heels together, and come back to Kansas. Although to be honest, given that I have run out of both milk AND chocolate, I wonder why I bothered....

Finding the next dot

2010-01-13T09:43:00.003Z

I had a conversation with a very good friend about a week ago, just before I had my meltdown. He gave me a metaphor for life that I have heard in various forms before and like all good things had forgotten.

Life is like one big Dot-to-Dot puzzle. Except that there are no numbers on the dots.

We are not meant to second guess what the finished puzzle should look like. We have an idea, maybe, of what it might look like, but the only way to complete the puzzle is to wait for the next dot to light up. You cannot join the dots forwards to get understanding, only backwards.

For every perceived failure in life, know that this is where you are meant to be. Sometimes the nasty surprises in life prepare us emotionally and mentally for bigger challenges which, without previous experience, would have wiped us off our feet.

My over-active Gemini brain not only tries to work out every combination of what the picture is, but also logically how to get there - logic which always ends in 'I don't see how this is possible' and so I give up before I even start. Sod waiting for the next dot, I want to know now that everything is going to be okay. I think I know better than the Creator - an illusion of control that none of us have, and a total lack of trust that everything in the Universe is unfolding as it should. As my teacher says, I think too much. Oh yes, 25 hours a day, 8 days a week.

Whilst I have been overwhelmed with confusion for the past couple of weeks (actually, I have been sinking for a while without realising it, heading to this place) I have learned to trust that my teacher will point me in the direction of the next dot. My meeting with him yesterday brought a bit of a surprise on what I thought the next dot would be. Because it wasn't where I thought it was.

I decided this week not to talk about myself, my decisions, my experiences - for a change - and allow him to reveal the structure of the personal transformation plan instead. This is the way forwards, after all. And I did listen. And he revealed. And it was good.

It basically involves looking at 5 different areas: Study, Ego Transformation, Spiritual Connections, Personal Goals and Sharing. Over the next couple of weeks I am to capture what I am already doing, and what I want to start expanding on. Then we are to discuss and formulate a plan that will help to start introducing the Light back in to my life.

My teacher then asked if I had any questions. I said no - it was all clear. Good, something to focus on. I like structure.

And then he said "So, what are you doing about work at the moment?"

Whaaaaaat?? my Ego screamed. Where did that one come from? Don't you know that I am in the middle of a really hard depression here?? Can you not see that I am not in any position to even speak to people, let alone work? Don't you get it?

I told him a brief recount of what I was trying to do - building my own material for my business, but now I was confused because what I wanted to do (helping other people through coaching and training) wasn't going to work whilst I was still trying to deal with my own problems. I told him that at the moment it was an effort just to function.

"In Kabbalah", he replied, "You do not fix the pain by dealing directly with the pain. You work around it. I am not going to say that I can truly appreciate the pain that you must be feeling because I have never been there, but in order to remove it, we need to work around it and allow the Light to resolve it. And your spiritual work at the moment is to get a job. That is what the Light is telling you to do"

What, you mean like, live in the Real World?

I started to listen, whilst the Ego was jumping around in my head finding every excuse in the book not to take him seriously.

Teacher: A student of mine was out of work for a year and she took her CV to an agency

Ego: Oh, I have already been down the agency route and failed miserably

Teacher: Within two weeks she was offered a job...

Ego: Yes, but probably she was working in an entirely different field

Teacher: .... with a company similar to [MD's]...

Ego: Oh yeah, working on the phones or something...

Teacher: ....travelling to run training courses up and down the country...

Ego: But that's great for someone who already has the experience.. I don't have any concrete experience on my CV..

Teacher: ...and she had no previous experience of this at all.

Ego: *oh*

Teacher: But she went to speak to them and there was something about her that they liked and so they took her on. And two weeks after that she was offered another great job that she then turned down. You have already done some spiritual work. Write a letter to the Creator asking for what you want, down to the number of people in the office and the colour of the furniture. Start scanning the Zohar and get your CV out there. See what starts coming back. And maybe taking any job is the right path for you - because it might be the step that will take you to something better.

Ego: ....Yeah.....But how am I going to know if this is the right thing or not, or whether I am just taking the first thing that comes along because it's the easy way out?

Teacher: ..and if you want to contact me at any time with the offers you receive then I can take a look at them.

Ego: ...errrrmmm.... shall I just shut up now?

KR: Yes. I think you should.

My teacher even arranged our next meeting for the evening ".. because I think you will have a job by then, or maybe one or two people will want to meet with you on that day and you can come here after..."

Part of my Astrology reading predicted that as soon as I started to take action, big things would start to come in to my life. I started to feel enthused once again by this prediction. The pain that I have carried around with me so long cannot stay close to the surface forever - but at least this time when I pull myself together I know that it exists, and I know that I am doing the work to remove it permanently from my life.

And now, as I consider all of my strengths and weaknesses, re-writing my CV, visualising what I want, the next dot is starting to light up....

Time to Deal

2010-01-12T08:52:00.005Z

It is strange to be in the grip of depression - this one is quite a doozy. Not surprising really, given all of the years that I have been holding this in. But for the time being, I am sitting with it and listening to what it has to say.

And I can hear two voices. The first is that of the child - hurt, bewildered, confused. The second is of the parent - telling me to get a grip. Usually I listen to the parent. This time I am not.

It is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. So I might be on the sidelines at the moment, but phew! Thank goodness I'm not insane!

When I lived with my Mum and Step-father, it wasn't just the sexual abuse I had to deal with. If everything else in the garden had been rosy, save a couple of inappropriate nocturnal visits, I may be living a different life by now. But instead my sister and I had to deal with years of mental abuse. No wonder I am a little confused.

My Step-father was a misogynist and a control freak. Six months after moving to live with him, the whole family moved to a 3 storey council house. Under the pretence of 'not wanting your Mum to shout up the stairs', he installed an intercom system on all floors and used it to surreptitiously listen in to our conversations. Shortly after this he received a pair of field binoculars for Christmas, and used them to spy on the neighbourhood, make lewd comments on the state of the women walking past the end of the street and watch to see whether any boys were turning up at my friend's house (they were side on to us - we could see in to their windows, they couldn't see in to ours). He also had the uncanny knack of appearing out of nowhere if ever I was anywhere I wasn't meant to be. As the years rolled on it was evident that he was going through our rooms, looking for evidence of things that he could get upset about, and soon enough Mum was one step ahead of him trying to protect herself from another battering. Nothing was sacred.

I could have a normal, sane conversation with him about boys or friends which two weeks later would be twisted around and used to prove to my Mum that her girls 'were taking the piss' out of them both and that she needed to take action to correct it.

And of course, every morning after a monumental fight - whether we had to step in or not - my Mum would be frantically trying to control the situation by telling us that our Step-father just dealt with things differently, that this was something that she would deal with - this was for adults - and not to go making any trouble or make mountains out of molehills.

So every day I would go to school and put on a mask of 'nothing to see here' and pretend to be normal. And do everything I could to prevent friends (and enemies) from getting my phone number, inviting me out, calling round to the house. Every invite was met with an automatic 'No' and an excuse. I was so well practised. And anyway, if they really found out what was going on and what I was letting him do to me - then what would they think? And where would that get me, given that as a cover-up team, my Mum and Step-father were virtually professional. "Oh you know what teenagers are like - always wanting attention. She's just being silly because..."

So all of those years, I told myself that my feelings did not count, that the pain I felt wasn't real, that I was just making mountains out of molehills, that I had nothing to make a fuss about and that people wouldn't understand anyway. I became a master of the art of disconnecting from my feelings - switching off, shutting down, locking everything away.

Since I've left home, the feelings haven't diminished - the pain is still there, untapped. It feels as though it has grown so huge that I am too afraid to touch it - as though I might spontaneously combust with the sheer size of the rage. And now that I am further away from the events that caused all of the pain in the first place, it seems even more surreal for it still to be there and so disassociated with my current life for it to be even less understood than it was before.

Another thing that I have noticed about depression is that people don't really want to know. And I can understand why. People are afraid of it - they don't know how to help or what to say. All they want is for you to be better, for you to be back to normal, sooner rather than later. And this isn't a criticism of my friends, because unless you have been there it is hard to understand and I can't say I have felt any differently when faced with a depressed friend myself. (Note: this is what I love about blogging, because, actually, I don't need anyone to provide a solution, just to listen and 'be there'. And you, my blogging friends, have been outstanding in your support. Seriously.)

All of my life, there is one question that has helped me to keep pushing people away, no matter what my current circumstances: "How are you?" because I have always had to lie.

People ask 'How are you?' and what they want to hear is 'Great, thanks! How are you?' But the question for me has always taken me back to the time when I was so desperate for someone to spot that things were not normal, the times when my forced 'nothing to see here' smile hid a great pain, masked a silent plea of can't anyone see what is going on here? which was begging for someone to step in and help. And nobody ever did. How fabulous have I been in concealing this pain?

The truth is that the pain has never diminished in size or vanished. It has always been there, waiting for me - even during my happiest moments when I thought that my past was in my past, it has been lurking, waiting for a challenge. I have made excuses to leave parties early and not understood why I couldn't connect with people, why I felt a sinking feeling in my heart of separation from all of the people there. Why, even when I am happy, I still feel a downward lurch when anyone asks 'How are you?'

Well, now I finally know. All of the years when I thought I was 'coping', all of the things I have achieved, all of the times I pulled myself together, all of the times I thought that my past was behind me, that I felt I had finally moved on - all illusion. The pain was still there, patiently waiting for the wake-up call.

Oh, can I hear alarm bells ringing? Message finally received and understood.

Time to plummet the depths to retrieve the gold.

Time to deal.

Burn and Crash

2010-01-11T10:47:00.003Z

Usually it's Crash and Burn, right? Well, apparently not for me.

New Year's Eve brought a new sense of peace and Certainty that I was moving on. A vision of the future. On New Year's Day I continued with removing my past - I had a pile of less emotive documents which I proceeded to shred, I tidied up the spare room to place it in to some kind of working order, I started to see the wood for the trees.

And then I picked up the only two photographs of my step-father and decided that they had to go, so I burned them. Quite vindictively. As you do.

And I felt on top of the world. Goodbye past. Hello New Me. I felt exultant. I was going to walk in to Shabbat on Saturday morning, see my teacher and say "You know what, maybe I didn't miss Chanukah after all" with a broad beam on my face.

Oh how pride comes before a fall.

I woke on Saturday morning feeling a little offset, and took the train in to London. With delays from the weather, I arrived late, halfway through the lecture that my teacher was delivering. And from there everything just started to fold. I felt a sudden rising panic and didn't want to be in the room, didn't want to talk to anyone, couldn't look my teacher in the eye. My hands started to shake when the Torah was being read. I started to lose focus. Where did this come from? Get. A. Grip.

I clawed my way through the rest of Saturday wondering where all of the peace had gone and hanging on to thought that Sunday was a new day. And it was a new day, but my peace had not returned. I had a strange force of energy bubbling up through my spine, out in to my hands. I can't explain it, but it wasn't pleasant. And I couldn't seem to hold on to a rational thought for love nor money.

Midnight on Sunday found me pacing round the kitchen, hands violently shaking, mind racing, with a panic of certain insanity. This isn't normal - what's going on? What is happening to me? By 2am the rush was over and I felt calmer - tomorrow I can get a grip.

Except that I couldn't, because the energy was still there - my whole body was shaking. I had emailed my teacher earlier in the week to ask for a meeting, but instead he sent a text asking "So, what's up this week?"

What's up? What's up? I think I'm losing my mind - that's what's up! Not knowing what else to do, I replied with "Have some really strange energy going on. Starting to lose control and maybe losing my mind. Sounds dramatic but no other way to put it". I pressed send and then cringed at the thought of being seen to be either barking mad, or possessed. We arranged a meeting for Wednesday and eventually with a constant distraction of music and TV, the shaking started to calm down. By Tuesday I felt as though I had just woken from a very bad dream, but things had started to settle.

All of the way through Chanukah, I meditated on the symbols for Letting Go, to the point where I was wishing "However this happens, at whatever cost, I don't care how, just help me let go". What I was looking for was the ability to have a good cry to get everything out of my system, and then move on. That's what I thought would happen - that no matter what the situation or surroundings that my buttons would be pushed, I would have a good sob and feel much better for it.

Yeah, well, I do like to feel that I have all of the answers. It seemed logical to me at the time. I guess I need to be careful what I wish for, because I couldn't have predicted what I think was actually a nervous breakdown.

The meetings with my teacher never go as I expect, but the meeting on Wednesday was a landmark event in my life. I finally identified my pain, and that pain is Guilt. Guilt that I somehow encouraged my step-father to abuse me, guilt that I could have done more to prevent things from happening, guilt that prevented me from asking for help, guilt that isolated me from other people.

I have carried this guilt in to the present day. I lost contact with people because I hadn't found work and didn't know how I was going to find work. I've got myself in a to stupid financial mess which I don't like to admit to anyone. I've isolated myself to the point that even all of the trivial problems that I have appear overwhelming.

As the days since the meeting have passed, I have been caught between good days and bad - still unable to take this information and spring in to action, feeling yet more guilt that I cannot just 'pull myself together' despite my financial situation being no better than it was and shutting down as the only means of switching off my head.

At the same time there is another story unfolding. Maybe this is all a part of my path. Maybe in order to support other people through this level of fear, I had to really feel it myself first. Maybe my transformation needs to be this dramatic for my business to be a success, in that I will be able to show people that every situation is reversible, no matter how dire it feels at the time.

The process of burning my history backfired because I wasn't ready to let go - but as a result of two days of violent shaking I have an awe of the energy I am trying to tap in to - a new found Certainty of the power of the Universe, the existence of the Light.

This has all led to a greater understanding of myself - finally I am in a place from where I can move forwards, painful though it may be. Hope springs eternal.

I have a feeling that Chanukah worked after all.

Well Helloooo 2010!

2010-01-01T10:38:00.005Z

It's the start of a new decade. The end of the Noughties. The start of a New Year. The time when everyone promises to be different - makes resolutions to turn in to someone completely new, as though the transformation can somehow take place overnight.

I have always been disappointed with New Year's Day because for so long, nothing has changed. I was waiting for my life to change, for my burden to be lifted and for Good Things to start happening. And they never did, because I didn't let them. It was all a major anti-climax - the same issues, the same pain, the same life.

But this year is going to be different. I decided to celebrate New Year's Eve my own way - by letting go of the past. Well, kind of.

The last few days have brought the realisation on how I need to change. I have been more than a little introspective, more than a little detached and self-absorbed. So how to spend the Eve of the New Year by my rules? Burning stuff. Yes, you read that right, burning stuff.

When I started to clear out my possessions a couple of months ago, I came across pile after pile of old letters, diaries and memories. Reading them threw me in to a spin, took me in to a downward spiral - but all the same my first reaction was "I can't let go of this stuff because it's part of my history. This is me". Then I had my Astrology reading and was told to stop hanging on to my past, and I realised that looking at photos and reading letters and diaries that make you feel sad is probably not such a good thing after all. Why would I want to hold on to things that made me feel low time and time again? My (old) teacher told me to follow the spiritual process of burning - focus on the pain and the sadness that arises, set alight to the item and burn it from within - so I started to collect everything that made me sad, and discovered that I had been lugging around an entire box of pain from one location to another, dragging my unhappy past with me wherever I went.

If I'd owned a wood-burner or if it had been less windy in my back garden, the process might not have taken me so long. But given that all I had was a large tin foil roasting tray to sit over the sink in my kitchen and burn each item one by one, I procrastinated and the box of pain has sat in my living room looking at me. If it's possible for a box to look at you.

But last night was the perfect opportunity to start anew - At 7:30 pm I set up the tray over the sink, ripped the pages out of my diaries, muttered the Ana Bekoach prayer from memory, and put my iPod on shuffle. And started burning. And burning. And burning. Taking each page, one at a time, lighting it from the page about to burn out in the tray, catching the words from my past as they succumbed to the flames.

At 8pm I realised that the kitchen was full of acrid white smoke coming off the paper, and although it was freezing outside, I wedged the back door open with a shoe.

At 8:30 I wrapped a tea towel around my nose and mouth, realising that I was going to be there for quite some time and that my smoke-hardened throat was no match for the volumes of toxic past.

At 9pm my ears started to hurt from wearing headphones.

At 9:30 pm my back started to ache from standing at the sink.

At 10 pm I caved in to my urge to pee, and discovered that the entire house stank of burning paper.

By 10:30 pm I had learned which paper burns easily, which paper gave off the most smoke, which paper curled round suddenly and caught my fingers before I dropped it in to the tray and which paper sent shards of ash up to my kitchen ceiling, threatening to set the house on fire.

I kept going. To be honest, it didn't feel much like a spiritual process at times, standing at the sink with a tea towel over my face - the Kabbalah Bandit strikes again - hopping from one foot to the other and trying to stretch out the pain in my spine without setting alight to my hair.

But a few of the pages pulled me back to what I was letting go:

Sentences from my diary that began "I am so depressed today". Far too many of them.

Letters from my Dad sent to my sister and I when we first left him which started "I'm sorry that I got so upset again on Tuesday..."

And a page written by my Step-father in the front of a Pilot's Log Book (a flying lesson gift for my seventeenth birthday which enables me to claim that I flew a plane before I drove a car) which was probably written when he was drunk: "Fly high and achieve. Fly high with your ambition..Fly high and keep your feet on the ground" Oh, fuck off. Burn.

The last thing that I burned was a copy of my birth certificate, kept with a pile of documents from the compensation I received after my farce of a court case. The old Kabbalah Rookie is dead. Time for rebirth. I watched as it went up in flames, at ten to midnight. Mission accomplished. And then I sat on the couch until 3:30 am wondering if I felt any different.

And somehow I do feel different. Not much to see on the outside, but slightly more at peace with myself, I guess. And a little bit achy from standing at the sink for over 4 hours.

My situation is no different to how it was yesterday - same house, same crap waiting to be posted on eBay or taken to a car boot sale, same bank account (less probably a few more direct debits) - but my gratitude has grown. Gratitude for what I do have. Gratitude that there are people out there who will love me no matter what. Gratitude that I am living in a world of opportunity and can choose to make my life whatever I want it to be. Enormous gratitude for the soulmate connection with my sister, without whom I doubt that I would still be here. Seriously.

And having said that, immense gratitude for the support I have received since I started to open up on my blog. Your comments and emails have made a world of difference - with your kindness and encouragement, you have scooped me up off the floor when I needed it the most.

Thank you for being such an important part of my journey, and for allowing me to follow yours.

I wish you all a blessed 2010, because in my book (the one I didn't burn) you all deserve it.

Christmas Wake Up Calls

2009-12-31T09:31:00.004Z

As I said yesterday, this Christmas was good for me. But it wasn't without its challenges. And those challenges came in the form of my friend's two lovely girls.

I have watched these girls grow from tiny baby scraps in to little people and they continue to surprise me every year for entirely different reasons.

The youngest girl, K, turned seven in August. From the moment she could talk, K has had the ability to completely disarm me. I have never known a child with such intuition - when she looks me in the eye she can see straight through me and that scares me ever so slightly. Okay, it scares me a lot. She totally has my number. On Boxing Day she wanted me to sing with her on the Wii. I turned her down, giving the excuse that I didn't really know the song. She gave me that piercing look. "You're scared." she said. And when I denied it she knew that I was lying "I can see on your face that you're scared. I can see you smirking". Thankfully I was rescued by lunch being ready. But truthfully, I didn't really know the song. And I didn't want to break her ears.

This minor confrontation was nothing, however, compared to Christmas Eve, when she discovered through her sister that I was smoking. Now, I'm not proud of smoking. I can give you all of the excuses in the world as to why I smoke, but at the end of the day I know that they are just this: excuses. I know that the habit has to stop, but with everything else going on in my life at the moment, now is just not the right time. Try explaining that to a seven year old.

She confronted me when I was trying to dry my hair.

"Why do you smoke? I am very unhappy that you smoke. You will die if you smoke."

I told her that I was going to stop, but not just yet.

"You must stop today" she said "Why don't you just throw the packet away and then you won't have to smoke. You must stop for Christmas. You must stop now. Stop now."

I had to restrain myself from reacting and somehow turned in to a version of my mother, with short, defensive phrases such as "when you are older, you will understand" and "I'm not going to argue with you, K, so drop the subject"

The more she kept on, the more I wanted to run outside and light up - my own childish reaction. I wasn't going to be told what to do by a child. What does she know about my situation?

But the discussion didn't end there. Later in the day we went out for a walk and stopped to buy some pastries. I snuck outside and had my third cigarette of the day (pleased with myself that I was only on number 3 at 3pm). Despite hiding round the corner, K spotted me.

When we got back to the house, I was prompted to try a bit of Brain Training on the Nintendo DS. My friend walked in to the living room.

"Oh dear" she said "K's writing you a letter about your smoking" Oh not this again. Give me a break, K, I've got enough problems as it is.

K stomped in to the living room 5 minutes later, whilst I was midway through discovering that I had the brain of a limpit, and dropped the following piece of paper in to my lap.

Everyone sat and watched my reaction as I glanced angrily at the piece of paper in my lap. I wanted to be defensive, but I restrained myself and finished my game, effectively ignoring what she had written but feeling my cheeks flush with shame. How can I dismiss her childish accusations when everything she said was perfectly true? After 5 minutes she reappeared and delivered another little note containing a Ferrero Rocher chocolate that she wanted me to eat. It said "This is mine but I want you to have this" and was accompanied by a love heart.

I remembered back to how grown up I felt when I was seven, and how sensitive, and decided to pick the right opportunity to talk with her openly. That opportunity came later on in the evening, when she decided that she wanted me to be her sister, and to come and play in her room. She handed me a notepad and told me to write something. I wrote something along the lines of "KR loves K and would very much like to be her sister". K read the note, wrote a reply and handed it back to me "K loves KR as a sister because she is funny and has a good personalty even though she smokes" Bingo. Opportunity on a plate.

"You do know that I am sad that I smoke too, don't you?" I said.

"But why do you? Why do you smoke when you know that you are going to die?"

I explained as best I could and promised that I would be giving up very soon. And I meant it.

"If you die my Mummy will be really sad, and I don't like it when my Mummy is sad, even though I don't really understand it, I don't like it".

Somewhere deep inside, my heart broke just a little bit more than it had before. My friend's Mum died very suddenly of cancer at too young an age and smoked voraciously all of her life. If I can't give up for myself, I need to give up for the people around me.

That was the last conversation on smoking although I continued to get sidelong glances when I grabbed my coat and sneaked outside.

The older daughter, L, affected me on a different level. She is 11 years old - such a tender age: just on the fringes of puberty. She still retains a childish innocence and is excruciating embarrassed over the way her body is starting to change. When the school recently gave the girls "The Talk", the teacher commented that she had never seen a girl turn so white so quickly when a tampon was passed around the class. I feel for her and remembering my own fears I wanted to talk to her and tell her that everything would be okay, but the bridge wasn't there to cross.

Her moods are verging on teenager, playful one minute, affronted the next, but her body is still that of a child - tiny, straight up and down, no hips. Just like I was. Just like I was the year that my Stepfather started to visit my bedroom with the offer of rubbing my back. Only whenever I have remembered this abuse, I have pictured myself as I am now, with a woman's body and a mature mind - someone who had the capability to say no. I have felt so much guilt over the years for not being able to control the situation - none of the efforts I made to deflect his attentions worked. And I have blamed myself for years imagining that somehow, with all of my teenage hormones and curiosity, I encouraged him - as though the thoughts in my head that I had about boys were enough to turn me in to such a temptress that he - as a 42 year old man - couldn't possibly resist.

But now I am hit with the sudden realisation that I didn't stand a chance. And that although the abuse went on for long after my body had developed (although, to be honest, I am still waiting patiently for my boobs to grow), when the abuse started I was just a girl. A girl whose only worries in the world should have been about growing up and keeping up with the latest craze - not desperately trying to engineer every waking moment to prevent 'consequences' that could never have been avoided.

If I think of any 42 year old man approaching L in the same way, I can feel my fists clenching, ready to fight. I feel so angry at the mere thought. I can see how easily she would be manipulated, how quickly she would shut down if she did not have the support of her parents, how swiftly she would blame herself. How remarkably easy it would be to take a beautiful, caring, open child and crush her spirit out of all recognition. And I've never given myself the same consideration - there is still a part of me thinking "But maybe if I'd done this, or not done that, or told somebody". Maybe I am just too proud to admit that I was outwitted at every turn. I thought I was clever, but just not clever enough.

It's New Year's Eve, and 2010 lies ahead, waiting for my next move. It is time to move on, to finally forgive myself for being out of my depth, for learning that the control I could not possibly have had then, I can have now. The possibilities are endless.

The Last Christmas of its Kind

2009-12-30T15:35:00.003Z

I have to admit, that as part of a new attitude and as part of the New Me, I had a good Christmas this year. A very nice Christmas. Christmas is, after all, what you make it (as is any day). All the same, next year is going to be markedly different.

Christmas, for me, has for a long while been the most depressing time of the year. It wasn't always that way - in fact, for the first ten years of my life it was the most exciting, magical time of year. When my parents were together, Christmas followed a pattern. My sister and I would wake up and creep downstairs to make a cup of tea for my Mum and Dad, carefully opening the living room door and peeking at the pillowcases that served as our Christmas stockings. At 8am and no sooner, we would wake them up, drag them downstairs, and open our presents.

Later in the morning my aunts, uncles and cousin would arrive, Christmas dinner was served at 1:30pm, after which point we had an excruciating wait for the Queen to finish her speech before we could open the big presents under the tree. In the evening, after a buffet tea, we would open the little presents that had been stowed in the branches of our huge Christmas tree.

The only year this sequence went sour was the year that my sister discovered our Christmas presents hidden in our parents' wardrobe, and our feigned surprise on opening each present was met with "Oh don't pretend. You already knew you were getting that". Oops.

At the age of 11, Christmas became a whole new ball game. My sister and I lived with my Mum and Stepdad, and visited my Dad every other weekend. Each Christmas was alternated between parents, switching houses between Christmas and New Year. Each year my Mum would pull faces at the presents Dad had bought and make comments that he was just trying to buy our love and 'show off', and each year my sister and I grew further and further apart from my Dad as he built a new family with my Stepmum and my little brother, pushing us out of their circle. The joy of opening presents from my Dad slowly changed in to an annual performance of false gratitude (which surely deserved at least an equity card, if not an Oscar) as we unwrapped well-intentioned gifts that neither of us liked.

At least this was better than Christmas at home with my Mum and Stepdad. Whilst every day living with my Stepdad was spent walking on eggshells, the festive season was akin to hopping blindfold through a minefield. One particularly joyous year that springs to mind was when I was sixteen years old, and my sister had left home. My Mum had been working on Christmas Eve, and - sin of sins - had been seen by my Stepdad chatting to one of the workmen who used to buy his lunch from the shop. Saving his inquisition until he was well and truly drunk, the early hours of my Christmas morning were spent listening to my Stepdad accusing my Mum of - amongst other things - being a "f*cking whore" and wanting to "f*ck that ginger C*NT" accompanied by slammed doors, things being thrown and dropped, and occasional shrieks - which could have been injuries, or maybe not. It was always hard to tell.

Eight hours later my Mum was persuading my Stepdad and I to open our Christmas stockings as though nothing had happened and to "cheer up and be nice because it's Christmas Day", before she went out in the car to fetch my Stepdad's Mum and Dad. Christmas Dinner was intended for 2pm, but my Stepdad wasn't hungry at that point, and so we waited until 6:30 before tucking in to a long-overcooked and reheated meal in uncomfortable silence. We watched evening TV with a running commentary from my Stepdad, nursing his beer, shotgun at side. At 10pm I went upstairs and got ready for bed whilst my Mum dropped my 'Nan and Granddad' off home, at which point my Stepfather took the opportunity to come up to my room and sexually abuse me. Not for the first time, so no great surprise there then.

Ho. Ho. Ho. Me-erry Christmas.

After I had left home, whether in a relationship or not, I always felt as though I was being shoved from pillar to post. Dad always had a "family Christmas" and so the habit grew of having our Christmas at New Year. I spent Christmas with Mum once after she had left my Stepdad, but started to realise that the Christmas I wanted was never the Christmas I was going to get.

Every year I wanted just to forget all about Christmas. And when my last relationship ended I became the hot potato - "What do we do with KR this Christmas?" Christmas with my Mum has not been an option since she moved in with her partner 12 years ago - they have their own Christmas, together. For several years I went to stay with my Aunt, but after being woken up the last time on Christmas morning with a barked "Wake up, you!" and having no presents to open on the day except for a hastily grabbed pair of pink fluffy bed-socks, I decided I needed a change.

And then my friend made me an offer to visit them instead. I've known my friend for 25 years now and our lives are very different - she's been with the same man for nearly 20 years, has two daughters and is the main breadwinner of the house. We repeatedly promise to be better at staying in touch and yet still go months without any contact (this year our promise has been to Skype on a regular basis) but despite this we seem to have a bond that only gets stronger each year. When we do get together, it only takes one mention of "'E's a giraffe!" or 'Gothic Nazis' to send us back in to the same fits of giggles that got us in to great trouble at college. But most of all, we seem to just accept each other for Who We Really Are, without needing to say a word. And you can't buy that for Christmas.

The first year I went to visit it was slightly painful at first - sitting in on someone else's family Christmas, again pining for the Christmases I felt had been stolen from me - but now it's a blessing to be invited to join them, watching her girls create the memories that I once had and taking a Santa sized bite out of the mince pie before heading off to bed. It is a relaxed affair and they all make me feel really at home and part of the family. It's helped to remind me what is really important in my life and what the true meaning of Christmas really is.

Christmas is about goodwill, not getting crushed in the crowds on Oxford Street trying to find "the right present". Christmas is for Christians, not a spiritual convert who invests energy in Chanukah and Pesach and Rosh Hashannah. Christmas is for kids - to give them a day that they will look forward to and never forget for the right reasons.

Next year, Christmas is going to be reserved for the kids and the people I actually spend the day with. No more buying presents out of duty for those who leave it until three days before Christmas to ask when they might see me. No more charades. No more pretence. No more buying gifts as part of an obligation to family who celebrate a day which belongs to a religion I no longer follow.

Don't think that I've gone all Scrooge, though. I think that the Honest me is going to be far more genuine and giving and lighter than the Unhappy, Obligated me who spent most of her time clawing her way through Christmas wearing jeans and a grimace. I feel so much better now that I have got that off my chest. But don't think to get me started on New Year...

A Titanic Dose of Rage

2009-12-21T08:54:00.003Z

I think I've finally worked out why the Titanic keeps popping up in my life. A few weeks ago I thought that it was referring to a large event which had started to bring my past to the surface. Sink or swim. Then, after the last meeting with my teacher where I almost, but couldn't, cry, I met with a friend who put a slightly different spin on things.

It's not so much my past that is being brought to the surface, but all of the feelings I had pushed down so long ago. The Titanic, he said, sunk to the bottom of the sea in icy cold waters, and lay there compressed. What you have to remember is that bringing the contents of the Titanic to the surface did not tear them apart. I remember looking at the dining sets at the Titanic exhibition in New York - crockery remarkably preserved.

What was strange is that all of the references to the Titanic had somehow stopped after I had met with my teacher and he had offered to listen. So perhaps now that I had got the message I didn't need the continual prompts. What followed the meeting were a few days of unsettling contemplation. Logically, I knew what had upset me and why, but I was still lost as to how to unleash these feelings during a 45 minute meeting. It needs to come out, but how?

I sent my teacher an email, asking for a meeting and giving a very brief explanation of my concerns. I am afraid that I will be wasting your time, I said, I refuse to cry.

He replied with a one liner, suggesting a meeting just before Rosh Chodesh, where at least 100 people would be coming along to understand the energy of the month of Capricorn.

Oh great - so not only do I not want to be seen to be crying at the best of times, but now he wants me to make a mess of my face just before Rosh Chodesh? But if this was the only time available at short notice, then so be it. I was going to give it my best shot.

I spent the next few days somewhat consumed by the approaching meeting. How was this going to work? What on earth could he say which would possibly get past this seemingly enormous barrier to allow me to open up? When I lit my Chanukah candles, I meditated on finding a way to let go. I played sad and bitter songs to try and get a rise out of myself. I tried to understand the crux of my issues - what was really the root here? What was I most upset about? What, if I try to explain to someone else, will push the button enough to allow me to let go? Despite feeling a deep lurking pain, no emotions were coming to the surface. Not so much as a tea-set. Just the much practised I am dead inside so just leave me be air of martyrdom.

I turned up for the meeting prepared to cry, grateful for someone to listen and having an open mind. He was running late, which made things worse. He asked me what had been going on for the past week and I started to explain my recent pre-occupation with trying to find a way in. Less than two sentences out of my mouth, and he interrupted.

"So, let's just stop here. What has changed? Nothing has changed here. You have missed the miracle of Chanukah. If you'd understood the miracle of Chanukah it would have happened by now."

He then proceeded to tell me that I needed to move on: to start doing the spiritual work. Stop telling yourself the old stories, he said. They're just old stories, they mean nothing. The only way you can move forwards is just to decide to move forwards and start learning. Have you read the Shabbat book? How can you come to Shabbat if you haven't read the Shabbat book? You don't even understand what consciousness you are meant to have. You can't just turn up like it's a religion and expect to see the return. You can't just sit in the room and listen to the reading of the Torah and gain from it. It shouldn't just be a habit that you do - you need to learn it. You should be an advanced student by now. You should know better. Start studying and all of this will just go and all of these old stories that you tell yourself will go away."

He spoke some more about the energy of the month, giving me practical advice on Kabbalistic tools such as the Mikveh, telling me that I always over-complicate everything, that it really isn't that complicated, firing information at me whilst my head reeled with a variety of emotions. I was stunned. I felt betrayed, stupid, naive, and as though all of my good intentions with Kabbalah were second rate and a disappointment to him and the centre.

After ten minutes of lecture he said "Okay, that's it, see you at the New Moon" I sat with my mouth open. So that's it?

"Okay, now go. That's it." I sat, motionless. "You have something to say to me? I feel you have something to say to me. What is it?"

I couldn't express what was on my mind clearly - confusion reigned. "I just... I just don't... people have been telling me to move on for years and I've never been able to. I just don't understand how that is meant to work. For the past few weeks when all of this stuff has come up I don't feel as though anything has changed at all" I said, trying to avoid eye contact. My throat was constricted and I fought the tears that were beginning to prickle at the back of my eyes. But it was for all of the wrong reasons, and he doesn't want to hear it. Who ever did?

"That is the illusion of the Opponent" he said "What happens when you change something in the spiritual world is that it is immediately concealed, so you don't think you ever had it. But it is there waiting for you. But if you keep telling yourself the old stories, you will miss it. You need to keep doing the work, and learning, and in a couple of months you won't have these feelings any more. They will be gone".

There was a moment's pause whilst I tried to accept what he was saying. Maybe he's right. I couldn't see how I was ever going to open up. Perhaps I am just too determined to hang on to my feelings. Perhaps it really is that simple - let them go.

Before I got up to leave, he casually threw in the question "So, how's the crying going?"

I laughed mockingly. "Yeah, well, like I said, I don't do crying"

He sat back in his chair and looked me in the eye with a knowing smile. "But you want to cry now, right?"

Touché.

Despite all manner of thoughts crashing through my brain and a massive ball of rage slowly burning up inside, I haven't yet cried. But on Friday night I switched TV channels and heard the words "made at the same docks that built the Titanic", and on Saturday night "this is one Titanic event" and this morning "I take it you've all seen the film Titanic?"

Something is shifting. Perhaps I didn't miss Chanukah after all.

The Slippery Nipple (2)

2009-12-18T10:55:00.006Z

On my 32nd birthday, which happened to be a Friday, I took the rare opportunity to invite any nearby friends and half of the office to come out and celebrate with me.

As I was inviting half of the people from the office, I felt obliged to invite everyone, including a couple of people who I had hoped would turn down the invite, but unfortunately didn't. How was I supposed to let my hair down with my boss and his wife lurking in the background?

The evening was to start with a bite to eat in a trendy bar in Hertford, followed by drinks for as long as anyone wanted to stay.

My chosen look for the evening was going to be trendy: Black trousers, black halter-neck top, silver chain belt, chunky silver necklace, bracelet and earrings, black heels. Hair short and spiky. I looked good. I looked skinny. I looked like The Party Girl. Bring it on.

The party kicked off a little later than expected, and by the time people started to show up I had eaten some walnut bread to keep me going, and to soak up the first Vodka and Coke of the evening.

When the first friend arrived he asked "What are you drinking?" and that was the last moment of the evening that I mentioned the word vodka. Everyone who turned up after this came to say Hello carrying a new vodka: Vodka and Orange, Vodka and Coke, Vodka and Tonic. The word had got round that I was drinking vodka, and who was I to be rude and turn down a drink? Especially considering that nobody appeared interested in ordering any food - and after a couple of drinks in quick succession I was too drunk to be interested in food either.

But I wasn't too drunk to notice that my halter-neck top - which was matt black cotton-lycra with "secret support" was continually doing its best to head south. The broad elastic band kept sliding down my ribs, elongating the stretchy halter-neck straps in to thin strips. I couldn't seem to go ten minutes without hitching the top up one side and then the other. But at least I had the wherewithal to hitch it. Ha! I can handle my drink!

At 11pm the bar closed and we made our way to another bar that closed at midnight. To say that I was drunk was a little bit of an understatement *hitch*hitch*. One of my friends then decided to break the run of vodkas and ordered me a Lavender Aftershock (equal measures of red (Cinnamon) and blue (Mint) Aftershock). He warned me not to drink it all, but before I knew it, the glass was empty. How did that happen? *hitch*hitch* Someone then bought me a glass of water, which I knocked off the side with my elbow and turned round completely oblivious at the sound of the glass breaking all over the floor *hitch*hitch*

At the end of the night, another of my friends (the eBay Queen, pre-twins) asked me how I was getting home.

"Cab" I said, aimlessly pointing to where the taxi rank could have been.

"Do you have one booked?" she asked

"'shover there, shumwhere" I replied.

"Yes, but do you have one booked?"

Once I understood the question, I shook my head *hitch* hitch*

"Right, come on, we'll give you a lift"

The apartment I was renting was in an old building centred around a courtyard. At that time, there were three enormous workman's holes at the entrance to the car park, barricaded off with bright orange cones and florescent barriers. My friends parked up where they could easily turn round and we chatted for at least half an hour - the main subject being whether I had offended anyone during the evening or done anything which might become office gossip. I really couldn't remember, but apparently I'd managed to escape humiliating myself despite being ten times more plastered than anyone else there.

Finally I got out of the car, swung my bag over my shoulder, and tottered towards the front of the building, narrowly missing falling straight in to one of the barricaded pits. Coo, that was close. I regained my balance and my friend's husband put the car headlights on full beam. How kind, I thought. I turned round and gave them a big wave: I'm fine! Really! I turned back round and swaggered off, round the front of the building, up the stairs and in to my apartment.

Wow, I was busting for a wee... quick get to the bathroom... oo, what relief! That's better!

As I stood to try and drag up my trousers, I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror and froze in horror. The halter-neck top had twisted sideways and there I stood completely exposed - on full beam. No way! How did that happen? Or more importantly when did that happen? Surely this had happened only when I got in to the bathroom? Yes, it must have done. Maybe the dash in getting to the loo.... I couldn't remember. Crap.

I sent a text to my friend. When you left me, were my nipples showing?

Thirty seconds later, she responded. I cringed as I read her reply: Yep. Still laffin'

Thankfully I had managed to keep myself decent throughout the evening, and my top had slipped when I had thrown my bag over my shoulder as I clambered out of the car. Hence the full beam. My friend had laughed so hard on the way home that she had nearly wet herself and had to beg her husband to slow down over the speed bumps.

Practical joker that she is, she wasn't going to tell me what had happened, but wanted to see whether I 'noticed first'. Ah, a little bit of humility. We still cry with laughter every time the story is told.

I can wish that I had not been so drunk - blame the vodka, or that I had chosen a different outfit for the evening - blame the halter-neck top.

But deep down in my heart, I blame the slippery nipples.

The Slippery Nipple (1)

2009-12-17T11:40:00.006Z

Twenty years ago I had just left home. For the first time in my life I didn't have to report to anybody, I wasn't being watched, I didn't have to explain my whereabouts - I was a free agent. Bliss. Kind of. Because I don't really remember taking full advantage of my new situation at all.

Theoretically speaking, given my restricted teenage years, I should have completely gone off the rails: a wild child, drinking and clubbing and following a life of debauchery. But hey, I like to buck the trend. I am wild... in my own way.

My tolerance for alcohol back then was several shades higher than it is now (which, to be honest, isn't difficult given that my current tolerance is limited to sniffing a glass of wine before passing out). My favourite tipple at the time was Southern Comfort and Coke, or various cocktails gulped through a straw at Miss Pears. The evening was always started off with downing a 'Slippery Nipple' (Baileys and Sambuca), followed by multiple SC&Cs, and then usually a decision was made to either go clubbing, or head to Miss Pears.

Despite my evident tolerance for alcohol, I don't remember going out that often and hence can be classed as a binge drinker by today's standards. Or maybe I just don't remember how often I went out... it's all a bit of a blur.

One night that stands out clearly in my mind was the only night that I ever had a brush with the law (with the exception of kissing a policeman on New Year's Eve). My landlady and drinking partner, Shaz, and I went in to town on a school-night for a 'quick drink'. One quick drink (Slippery Nipple) followed another and before I knew it I was shaking my booty rather wonkily on the dance floor at Shanghai Sam's nightclub.

As usual, by the time we left the club, my feet were killing me. I think I had blisters on my blisters which were not being numbed by the copious amounts of alcohol consumed during the evening. I limped and scraped and moaned - we didn't have that far to walk home.

And then Shaz spotted the shopping trolley and had a Bright Idea.

Shaz: "Quick! Jump in the trolley! I'll push you home!"

Me: "Are you sure you won't tip me out?"

She grabbed a nearby traffic cone. "Wear this on your head and then you'll be safe"

What a fab idea. I hitched up my already short skirt, hiked one leg in to the trolley, then the other, removed my shoes with a sigh of relief, and donned my protective head-gear. Shaz started to push me as fast as she could go. Or at least it felt fast to my inebriated brain.

We had only gone 50 yards or so when a car pulled up alongside us. Oh. It was a white car with florescent stripes and blue lights on the top. Oh, it's a policeman and he's getting out. But he's smiling, which is a good thing. Or rather, smiling but desperately trying to keep a straight face.

"Good morning ladies" he said rather formally (as far as I was concerned we were still on the night before) "Could you please get out of the trolley - it's not safe".

Me: "Oh but we're being safe, Officer. That's why I've got this cone on my head"

He stifled a laugh and then regained his composure.

Policeman: "I won't ask a second time. Where did you get the trolley? Did you steal it from Tesco?"

Me: "No, no! We just found it! We didn't steal anything! Honest! We would have taken it back!"

He sighed. "I won't ask a second time - please get out of the trolley. Where are you going?"

We told him. It wasn't far to walk, we said, we'll be fine. I clambered out of the trolley, displaying far more than he really needed to see, jammed my shoes painfully back on to my feet and started to hobble home.

He got in to his car and drove ahead of us, towards a bend in the road which lead to a small roundabout. Shaz started to commentate his departure: "He's goinnng... he's goinnng.... he's goinnng.... he'sgoinghe'sgoinghe'sgoinghe'sgoing......HE'S GONE! Quick! Back in the trolley!"

We legged the twenty yards or so back to the trolley and I clambered back in, cone firmly planted back on my head, shoes blissfully once again removed from my feet.

And he had gone. That is, he had gone, until he turned round at the roundabout and came back again. They're a suspicious bunch, the police. And strangely enough on that short journey he seemed to have totally lost his sense of humour too.

This time he didn't ask me to get out of the trolley, he asked us whether we would like to spend a night in the cells instead. Party Pooper. I was tempted, purely to trade the pain of walking home with a ride in a nice warm car. But we declined his offer. I clambered out of the trolley, displaying for a second time everything that I had to offer, and he watched as we crossed the road and disappeared out of sight.

Of course, I could say that none of this was my fault - it was after all not my idea to ride in the trolley or wear a traffic cone on my head. But I can't blame Shaz either.

So I think I am left with little option - I'll have to blame the Slippery Nipple.

The First Miracle of Chanukkah

2009-12-15T22:31:00.004Z

Last night was the Chanukkah party at the Kabbalah centre and I decided that seeing as I spent most of my time there wearing jeans (albeit Seven jeans, but jeans all the same) that I would don my glad rags for a change. Make the effort. It's a party.

What makes me laugh about dressing up for parties is that I always prepare for the evening by applying lots of 'going out' make-up and styling my hair, taking extra time to look good. Then at some point during the evening, the Delusion Fairy visits and helps me to maintain the thought that I look as good towards the end of the evening I did at the start.

I left the house in a rush, running late for the train, and it was raining. Thinking that I did not have enough time to turn back and grab my umbrella, I walked as briskly as I could, feeling the curl slowly return to my straightened hair, and rather alarmingly feeling my hold ups slip a little down my thighs.

I arrived at the centre and straightened myself out. My bright red lipstick had smudged at the corners slightly, giving me an undesired clown effect, but my eyes still looked okay.

Every person I met saw the dress and said "Wow - I like this - you look great!" and little by little I started to slowly feel ever so slightly fantastic. "It's the first miracle of Chanukkah" I said "Me, in a dress"

After the candle-lighting, lecture and meditation, there was a fabulous buffet upstairs and disco downstairs. I queued for food, remembered to re-apply my lipstick afterwards (which was extra effort seeing as I usually give up with lipstick after the first application), and then got up to dance.

I was still feeling fabulous - life and soul of the party. The Lady in Black and Red. I caught the train home tired, but in high spirits.

Now, I'm not sure at which point in the evening the Delusion Fairy waved her wand, but I was halfway home when one of my Hold Ups very suddenly became a Let Down. All of a sudden I had a knee covered in rather tired, rubbery lace. Without further ado, I grabbed the top of it and yanked it back up to the top of my leg, exposing goodness knows what to the young men walking behind me. I took two steps and it fell straight back down again. Marvellous. I decided to hitch, and then hold, (are they called Hold Ups because at the end of the evening you have to hold them up??). I walked home like Jake the Peg, feeling rather inelegant, but not being able to think of a better option.

When I reached the steep steps on the hill, I came face to face with a fox. She eyed me warily, as foxes do, and I stood a while to watch her, whilst she weighed up how fast I would be able to run with my Hold Ups round my ankles. Deciding that by the way I was clutching my leg, I was probably injured, she slowly moved to the side and let me pass. It was a nice moment.

When I got home I immediately got changed and took a look at my face in the mirror. Oh dear. All of the eye make-up that started on top of my eye had gravitated south and the lipstick had spread in to a multitude of fine lines created by too much laughing. A limping clown panda had replaced the vision of beauty who sailed out of the house 5 hours earlier.

Curse you, Delusion Fairy.

Imagine the Crimewatch reconstruction for that journey home.

A Light in the Darkness

2009-12-11T09:02:00.003Z

No, scrap that, several Lights in the Darkness.

First I would like to thank all of my blogging friends for throwing me a line - where I would be without you all, I just don't know. Luckily for me, it seems that none of you are prepared to let me slide in to my gloom. I am truly blessed and deeply touched that you care.

Depression is a cruel beast - but it is crueller still when you have an understanding of how life works, because it is accompanied by enormous guilt. Somewhere deep inside me is the knowledge of what I can bring to the world - the positive impact I can make to other people. So when I am locked away in my own pain, I am doubly crippled with the guilt that I am denying the world of what I am here to bring. And that sounds as though I believe I am something special, but actually, I am. And so are you.

My recent infatuation served a purpose. It wasn't about him, it was about me and my perceptions of what I am worth, of who I would want to be to even consider being with someone like him - who he would be attracted to and where I fall short in that equation at this moment in time: where I want to be in life, what I have the capacity to be and my beliefs relating to what is possible or probable with respect to falling in love.

The long and the short of it is: I don't believe that I deserve to have it all. Which is ridiculous, because, why not? Someone is out there waiting to come in to my life, and I am blocking them because of a fear that they will somehow fall short. I want them to be amazing in so many respects, but believe that if they are intelligent and caring and spiritual, they will also be pug-ugly and I would have to put a bag over their head to sleep with them. Or maybe they will be physically incredible, but intolerably shallow or dull. Or just looking for a good time and nothing long term. Is it possible that there is an attractive, intelligent, caring man out there who could possibly fall in love with me and who would love to have kids?

I'm putting up barriers to avoid what I perceive to be inevitable disappointment, pain and tears. I hanker after the unattainable, because at least that way I can't be rejected. As a result I am missing out on a lot of fun and the opportunity to find love.

I met with my new teacher yesterday, and after 45 minutes of 'being honest' about feeling so low (I didn't mention the infatuation) but as far as I was concerned skirting around the real issues somewhat, he said "You need to put a plan in place so that you can move towards where you want to be". I laughed out loud, mocking his suggestion "Plan? Plan? That's all I ever do is plan! I write out lists of what I need to do every day, but there is no structure! There is no one to set me deadlines, nothing to work towards... I can go for days without seeing anybody. I leave the centre and go home and I don't see another person from one day to the next! I can't keep myself going and yes, I do know that this doesn't help and it isn't where I want to be!"

"So, what do you need? You need more structure? Can I help to put a structure in place?" He asked.

"No, it's not the structure... it's not the structure! I need... I need...." and I so desperately wanted to say "LOVE! I NEED MORE LOVE! I HAVE NOTHING COMING IN FROM DAY TO DAY! I JUST WANT SOMEBODY WHO WILL LOVE ME!!" but at that point I realised that I couldn't say that without crying, and crying is not what I do. Plus I know that love comes from within - nobody can love you until you love yourself first. There is asking for the impossible, and asking for the impossible.

What followed was a bizarre situation where I couldn't speak for fear of crying. So I sat with my head in my hands, fighting to hold back the tears. Don't you dare fucking cry. Breathe. Suck it back. Now is not the time. Crying looks stupid. Breathe. And all of the time I was aware of him sitting there in silence, waiting patiently without judgement, and I thought Well, hey ho, this is a little strange. I feel like a right muppet. If I look up now, will my face look stupid? Will I burst in to tears? He's not going to say anything. Oh crap, hurry up and pull yourself together.

The minutes passed whilst I fought with myself, and eventually I won and composed myself.

And therein lies my issue - the darkest seed that lies festering within. When I was 11 years old I mastered one important lesson to help me to survive the situation I was in: my feelings didn't matter. And so I learned to shove them down as they came along - I was one person to the outside world and another person within. I changed my behaviour to keep people away. Despite the horrors that went on in the house I pretended that it didn't matter. Every time I tried to express my feelings, I was told that I was making something out of nothing, mountains out of molehills, being dramatic, seeking attention. And when you hear that message every day for over seven years, there comes a time when you believe it to be true.

When I left home, the habit of being one person on the surface and another underneath remained. The well of unhappiness grew in to a dense, dark spot which has been added to with each emotional upset. I've never wanted to disturb it because I dread to think what I might find. It's too black. Too overwhelming. If I open up this can of worms I might never survive - it will swallow me whole. I'm frightened that if I start crying, I will never stop. The fear is too great.

Oh piffle. Fear is an illusion. And in any event, now that I have recognised something that has been controlling my life for all of these years, I can't not deal with it. Ignoring this for any longer is simply denying myself the opportunity to be happy - pushing away the Light. And that I can't do.

I was aware of all of this before I met with my teacher - I said none of it. It didn't matter because after watching me force my tears down, he could see all of it. And he has offered to help.

Now is my time. The time to face everything that I have previously tried to ignore. The time to move forwards, once and for all, release these blockages and find me some Luuurve as a result.

Best prepare yourself, chaps, this is one woman who once she decides what she is going to wear, doesn't need a lot of time to get ready...

Probably the most depressing post in the world, ever

2009-12-09T20:43:00.005Z

It's all very well understanding the Laws of the Universe - how it all works, what I am meant to be thinking, feeling and doing in order to get results - but putting it in to practice is another matter entirely.

What is even worse is knowing what works and what doesn't and choosing what doesn't.

This Friday night starts the week of Chanukah - the week of miracles. We are in the month of Sagittarius, which lends a little light-heartedness and breeziness to life, but it also means that we expect things to happen without much effort and at the sign of any challenges, we run.

This week we are meant to go the extra mile - put in the extra effort to generate the miracles for the coming year. And all I want to do is run. And hide, which is what I do best.

And as if I didn't have enough on my plate - selling things, watching the money run out, trying to find the strength to motivate and believe in myself, think about how I am going to push forward with work, buy cheap Christmas presents for people knowing that I will feel utterly unworthy when I receive their generous gifts - I have found something else to completely wreck my mind.

I've fallen in love.

Except of course, I haven't fallen in love, not really. I've met someone - once - spoken to them two or three times, and become totally besotted with them. It is and always will be totally unrequited. And even though I know full well that I have fallen in love with a total fantasy which is probably a long way from the reality, it hurts.

Not just because I feel jealous of whoever has had the pleasure of his attentions (because, oh dear sweet God, how did you manage to create a man in such perfect proportion? And why did you not use the same tape measure for all men? Answer me that, huh?), but also because I can imagine what type of woman he would be attracted to. Or rather I think there are a number of types of women that he would be attracted to... and I don't fit in to any of these types.

In short, in my current situation and state of mind, I can't blame any man for giving me a wide berth. I'm not taking good care of my body or my mind. I need more than a few new outfits, at least 3 months at the gym (preferably 9 to 5), a haircut and 4 hours of waxing, minimum. I need to find work so that I am not sitting around at home losing my self esteem but am losing my self esteem so much that I can barely talk to people about work. (oh boy, chicken, meet egg. Egg, meet chicken).

And then this man comes along and helps me to see where I would love to be... and how far it is from where I'm at.

So I need more than one miracle. I need a bagful of miracles. Unfortunately I feel so low with constantly beating myself up I think I need a miracle just to get off my arse and actually do something which might grant me a miracle.

Friday night is the lighting of the first candle of Chanukah. Last year I didn't bother with the candle lighting, but this year I decided to make the effort and invested in a Menora. It's not your standard candlestick, oh no. It's a set of little glass bulb oil lamps which you fill with olive oil, with wicks and floating stopper discs, and a strange wax stick-type-thing - the purpose of which is completely unknown to me. I have all of the meditations in Hebrew, and the exact times for lighting the candles for each of the 8 days of Chanukah. And no instructions on how to light them.

Perhaps the first miracle will be that I don't burn the house down....

Voices in my Head

2009-12-06T11:38:00.006Z

No, I haven't gone crazy. We've all got them, haven't we? Those voices in our heads? And just before you start to think "I don't have voices in my head" then ask yourself, who just said that? That's right - the voice in your head did.

Yesterday morning was the same as any Shabbat Saturday. I woke up to the alarm and wished I had gone to bed earlier the night before. Can you really be bothered to get up and traipse in to London? It looks a little bit cold out, and miserable. And don't you do enough of traipsing in to London? What's the latest train you could catch? Can you spare another 5 minutes in bed, or risk a second, sedentary cup of tea? Why not just stay in bed, where it's nice and warm...

Okay, enough already. You say this every week. I know who you are and you're not going to stop me from getting to Shabbat. I got up and dressed, and made the train on time.

Once I was on the train, the voice changed from It's really not worth the effort to Smug. God, you're good. Overcoming your lazy ways and making this effort. You could have just stayed in bed for another hour. But no, you are putting yourself out and overcoming your negative behaviour. You can be proud of this....

It's the same voice that is speaking - the voice of my Opponent - but it changes from moment to moment according to the situation. It always shouts the loudest, no matter what it has to say. It doesn't matter if my soul is propelling me with the purest of intentions, the Opponent always tries to obscure any efforts I make. That's his job. Ring a company to talk about a project? Oh, they probably won't be interested in me, I'm not good enough, I can't do it. And anyway, they probably won't appreciate the quality of my work - they wouldn't know quality if it stared them in the face. Well, it's their loss. Arrange a night out with some friends? They all have such busy lives that they probably won't be free, and even if they agreed it probably wouldn't be to see me because I always end up taking over the entire evening with my own stories. And they just don't seem to appreciate my sense of humour. They'll probably make excuses, so best not to bother. It's not worth the hassle.

My new teacher gave the lecture at Shabbat, which this week was all about the energy value of thoughts and words, and awareness of the Opponent. He said that the Opponent's single greatest power is in being such an accomplished liar.

To illustrate this point, he finished with a story about a Kabbalist (now, come on, with my name-nesia, you don't expect me to remember the Kabbalists name, do you? All I remember is that it began with a B, if that helps. Or was it an R? I digress)

It was the middle of winter and the Kabbalist woke before dawn. Every morning before sunrise, he would walk down to the lake and perform the Mikveh (immersion in water) before starting prayers. It was bitter outside and the wind howled. As he lay there in bed, hesitating, he turned to find his Opponent lying in the bed beside him.

"Miss the mikveh today." his Opponent said "Look at the weather outside - it's dark and it's freezing cold. The lake will be frozen over. It's not even daylight yet - you might fall on the path. Stay in bed - it's so warm and snug in this bed. You can miss one day. I won't tell anyone."

The Kabbalist looked outside and back at his Opponent.

"I'll tell you what" he replied "I'll go and do the Mikveh, and you can stay in the bed all nice and warm. I'll be back, I promise - it will take only half an hour. So just rest here and wait for me"

He left the house and walked down to the lake and it was frozen over. Not to be deterred, he broke the ice and slipped in to the freezing water, and started his immersions - up and down, up and down... Halfway through, he noticed that the Opponent was sitting at the side of the lake.

"What are you doing here?" he asked "I thought I said you could stay in the nice, warm bed? I thought I said you were free to wait for me to return?"

"You did" replied the Opponent "But I've just come here to tell you how amazing you are, that you should come out despite this cold and perform your immersions - and with the lake being frozen over and all. You are truly an amazing Kabbalist. In fact, you are most likely the best Kabbalist that ever lived"

So I guess it happens to the best of us. Not that I am saying that I am the best, or anything.

On the train home, the voice of my Opponent was one of judgement, and I had to laugh at myself. I boarded the slow train to Cambridge, which stops at every station along the way. What is it with people and train doors? Why do they find them so hard to open? It's not rocket science, is it? The train stops, you press the very large button marked "OPEN" until the doors actually start to open, and then you step out on to the platform.

None of the passengers on the train yesterday seemed to understand this simple procedure. Some of them seemed to think that they were still riding the Underground - when the train came to a standstill they stood gormlessly waiting for the doors to open on their own. Others mistook the big squashy buttons for a touch sensitive screen - placing their finger on the rubber but not actually pressing anything. And a couple of people pressed the button lightly once so that the doors hissed and juddered but didn't open... and then did the same thing again to no effect.

And all of the time I am sitting in my seat silently screaming at them "Just push the fucking button! don't just stand there gawping, you idiot - push the fucking button! Harder that than, you twerp! Jesus! Do you want to get off at this stop or not? At this rate the train is going to leave! Hold it in! No, hold it in! Don't tickle the damn thing! You haven't got all day, you know! Oh, there you go. Now that wasn't so hard, was it? For crying out loud... some people... I ask you.... can't even open a fucking train door.... what is the world coming to....I'm surrounded by a complete bunch of muppets"

With every criticism came a counter thought. The only reason you are thinking this is because you panic that the button won't work and that you won't be able to leave the train. Take a lesson from them - they're not even worried that the doors won't open. Stop judging their level of intelligence on something so insignificant. Who are you to judge them at all?

And so what happened when we got to my stop? I was so lost in another dimension that when the train came to a standstill I was rudely interrupted from my daydream by a man's voice... "It won't open with the Close button you know..." He smiled. "You looked like you were on another planet"

*sigh*

Name-nesia

2009-12-04T14:13:00.004Z

Is there any other word for the inability to remember names? Numbers and dates, I'm fine with. Names and faces escape me.

The first time I mentored a group for a Kabbalah class, I made a concerted effort to remember the names of the ladies on my table. Rather keen to be a 'Good Mentor' I tried to arrange for the group to meet for coffee before the next class, and waited at the allotted time outside a busy tube station.

I stood for fifteen minutes searching the faces of every passer-by before I realised that I couldn't remember what any of my students looked like. I had remembered their names, but not their faces. Oh bugger. Hiding around a corner, I rang each of their mobiles in turn and peered through the crowd searching for any young woman answering a phone.

Another half hour later I realised that it wasn't important that I didn't remember their faces because none of them were going to show up (a lesson learned) and have been working on a technique to help me remember both names and faces. I think I might be scaring people - either that or they think I am permanently constipated. Whatever method I am trying doesn't seem to be working, so now I have decided to master the art of conversation when you can't remember someone's name. Wish me luck.

Last night two men boarded the tube I was on - one of them was extremely drunk and having trouble standing up, and the other was constantly checking to see if he was okay. Then I realised that I knew the man who was drunk. In fact, I spent a year hanging around with him when I was on student placement ten years ago, then kept in touch for several years afterwards as part of the student crowd. We'd been to Dorset, Cambridge, London... and his name is.... and his name is.....

What's his name? Oooo.... it's Rob's Friend ----....... Rob's Friend---------- "Rob won't be coming along tonight and neither will -----" Shit.

Roger? Jake? Jason? Jeff? James? Jay? Kevin? Kenneth? Keith? Carl? No.... let's start with the A's.... Alan? Adam? Aiden? Adie? Ade? Adie? Aiden? Bert? Brian? Billy? William? Charles? Charlie? David? Dave? Davey? Don? Don? Donald? Don? Ron? Damon? Damien? Darth Maul? Diego? Eric? Ernie? Fred? Fernando? Graham? Gary? Gollum? (*silly*) Harry? Ian?

J... J... I'm sure it begins with a J...

The names went through my head all of the way from the Underground to the overground train home. There was a black hole where his name had been. I know this man! I've met his wife! What's his name?! It's..... It's....

Jonathan! No! James! Jake! Gah! What is it?! Hang on... it'll come to me...

Every time I caught an inkling of the tail end of his name it slipped out of my grasp like an eel. And I hate eels.

Fifteen minutes later and I am still working through the alphabet, repeating all of the names I had thought of before, and more, trying to fit them to his face.

Oh this is stupid. Steve? Steve? Steven? Sevriano? Simon? Si? Sean? Salmon? (Salmon??) Sherwood? Vernon? Vick? Mike? Michael? Micky? Martin? Mark? Ryan? Richard? Rick? Ricky? Tom? Thomas? Tommy? Terry?

TIM!!!!! It's TIM!!!!

Oh, where'd he go? I wanted to say hello to him.

Went to visit my Business Advisor this morning (and yes, I do remember his name). The journey on the way there and back was on the big bus, which was nice and warm. On the way home I noticed a sign outside a church which read "Don't forget Jesus this Christmas"

Oh crap - I don't even know what to get Dad for Christmas... let alone Jesus....

Have you seen this woman?

2009-12-03T11:57:00.003Z

On the 7th of June, 1984, I watched the first screening of Crimewatch. (For those American readers, Crimewatch is the UK's version of America's Most Wanted). For a number of years from that point on, once a month I would avidly watch to see if I recognised any of the criminals so that I could do my bit as a British Citizen and, well, basically grass the baddies up to the police.

After several years of watching I realised that the likelihood of recognising anybody was slim, given that most of the time I am too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice anything going on around me.

Twenty years ago I dated a farmer called Tony. He was approached by a friend who, knowing that he could use the money, asked if he wanted to take part in a robbery of a post office in a nearby village. He'd done a few before, he said, and they had much less security than banks and just as much available cash. Tony declined.

A month later, Tony was watching Crimewatch and there was the picture of his friend on the screen, having successfully robbed the post office of £10,000 but being caught face-on by the security camera before he had donned his balaclava. Stupid, stupid man, he thought, that has to be at least 2 years inside without a doubt. Everybody around here knows who he is.

Three weeks later he bumped in to his friend on the street.

Tony: "What the hell are you still doing out? Weren't you on Crimewatch?"

Friend: "Yeah, gave me a bit of a fright. But when I was out doing my shopping the next day, I bumped in to half a dozen people who said 'Ere, I saw you on telly last night. Nice photo, mate!' And I haven't heard anything since. Like my new watch?"

I guess it pays to be liked.

Although I have virtually stopped watching Crimewatch altogether, something that has stayed with me are the reconstructions. Accuse me of having an over-active imagination if you will (guilty, as charged) but ever since I started watching the program and I am walking home late at night, I feel as though I am in a Crimewatch reconstruction to the point where I can actually hear the voice-over.

Nick Ross: "And on to our next mystery - have you seen this woman? Her name is Kabbalah Rookie, she's in her late thirties and was last seen on Wednesday night walking home from the train station.

Sue Cook: "Known as a bit of a recluse, she was the type of person who kept herself to herself and was rarely seen even by her neighbours. We know little of her contacts but knew that she took the train in to central London at least once a week and returned home late at night.

Nick Ross: "Passengers remember seeing her at 11:45 pm exiting the train at her home town, and she looked very pleased with herself - possibly because of an encounter she'd had on the train or earlier in the evening, or possibly because she had chosen the carriage doors which stopped precisely opposite the station exit, unlike the other passengers in the carriage who rather foolishly opted for the doors further down.

Sue Cook: "She then walked over the bridge, stopping at a convenience store on the way home to buy some milk. The shopkeeper said that she was very cheerful and couldn't understand why he had never seen her with a boyfriend. Are you her boyfriend? Perhaps you have taken her away on a whirlwind cruise without telling her family. If so, please get in touch.

Nick Ross: Or are you her friend? Did she have any friends? Has she ever had any friends? We suspect that she spent most of her time on the Internet, blogging and reading emails.

Sue Cook: Kabbalah Rookie was last seen walking up a dark alleyway near to her home. She was said to have had a faraway look in her eyes. Maybe she was not quite paying attention and fell in to a hedge. Did you see her reach the top of her hill? The passer-by reported her as being out of breath - perhaps you heard what you thought was a knackered fox. It may well have been the last moments of Kabbalah Rookie.

Nick Ross: Detectives on the scene are not able to determine whether she reached home - her house was in total disarray and may have been ransacked as most of her possessions appeared to be missing. If you have any information, please dial the number below. Oh and remember: Don't have nightmares, do sleep well.