Bert the Not-So-Silent Assassin

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

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

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...

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..

...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

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

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.