The Fear of Losing My Trade
Dogs bark, children cry, men moan, and writers write.
Or do they?
Do politicians and bricklayers wake up in the middle of the night in the fear that they have forgotten their trade?
I do.
The fear that by the time the next dawn chorus breaks, I will have lost the ability to bend words to my will scares me. I never knew I could write until it was almost too late. Perhaps it was. By that time, I was so infected by “imposter syndrome” that I will forever doubt my abilities. I love to write – it keeps the demons occupied and anxiety at bay. My hope is that it will pay the bills.
The Impact of Redundancy
I have written a lot just lately, at its heart is my last redundancy, my fourth to date. They don’t get better with experience, no calluses have formed – just more bruises on an already bruised arse and it just gets harder to get up, brush down and start all over again. Or in this case, as it was sold to me “embrace this exciting opportunity to explore those new revenue streams”. So that’s what I did. I wrote and wrote and wrote.
The Dread of Financial Strain
Whilst I no longer have to pay as much on the mortgage, I still have to put food on the table. Pay the gas, the electric and the council tax. It costs me a fortune just to stay still – so is it fear or anxiety that powers these words? Whatever, I still dread the drought and the doubt. I have no idea if this will be published or who it’s for – although my aim is the Oldie – they said no – so here it is.
Why I Write
I write because I must. I must because I write.
Caught in a Slow-Motion Car Crash
I am caught in a slow-motion car crash. Ella Fitzgerald once warbled “Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall” out with a melancholic synergy that matches my ever-darkening mood. I reflect that if she was singing today, the lyrics Don’t Jimmy Riddle in my Pocket and Tell Me It’s Raining would be more appropriate. Honestly, and for good reason. I’m cheesed off, angry, upset, annoyed frustrated and so bitter and twisted, that was I so pompous enough to actually contemplate such a thing; I would have to include a lemon and a corkscrew in any family crest.
Gratitude Amidst the Struggle
Don’t get me wrong. I know I should be grateful for huge mercies. I didn’t get bombed in Palestine, blasted in Myanmar, or shot in America for adjusting an air freshener. Yes, things could be worse, but that’s cold comfort. I’m coming close to running out of patience, interest, hope, and most importantly of course; cold hard cash. I’m caught in that eternal dichotomy, too young to retire yet stigmatised as too old to be employable. I’m desperate, and I desperately need a full-time job.
The CV Struggle
That means again I’m dealing with my old nemesis – the CV. When life deals us lemons, rather than heating the steam juicer and start making lemonade; perhaps it’s only natural that first, we seek someone to blame; I blame my CV. Just lately it’s been the focus of all my anger. Never have so few words been rewritten and edited so many times. Beaten, pummelled and hacked into submission. While I love writing, this is torture.
The CV as a Sadistic Creation
So much so that I’ve formed the opinion that the Curriculum Vitae must be one of the lesser-known ghastlier brainchildren of the Marquis de Sade. Only a sadist could revel in the linguistic misery I’ve inflicted upon the English language in the name of creating the textbook CV, the kind of semantic cruelty I’m constantly instructed is the mandatory vernacular to craft the optimum CV; The perfect CV? Could such a thing even be possible?
The Endless Confusion of CV Writing
Let’s face it. No one can agree on the optimum number of pages, let alone its syntax. Clearly, Sir Alec Issigonis never had to struggle with points and picas on his CV, before famously saying, in what seemed the perfect way to explicate this diabolical document’s evolution; “a camel is a horse designed by committee”. If so, he might have abandoned his archetypal articulate ungulate analogy and had something else to say about unintelligent design.
The Incongruence of CV Standards
Every seminar or workshop is different. Nobody agrees on anything. There are no common standards. Everyone contradicts one another and when it comes to a CV’s layout, Boris’s famed nonsensical and lampooned “Stay indoors” speech made more sense.
The Dying Light of My Career
I’m furious too, that it’s come to this – don’t you know who I am – raging at the dying light of my career. I want and NEED to find satisfying work before those embers finally fade. To rekindle what little hope is left. Yet it is the hope that kills you. This quest for employment is killing me. My gastritis is rampant. I miss cheese, red meat and red wine. I could cope if it were white meat and white wine. I’m losing sleep, faith, and perhaps next it’s my home…
The Sting of It All
Like a wasp wedged in your sandals, this is the thing that really stings. Yet I’ll not go disgracefully into the sunset. I don’t want to work at MacDonalds, B&Q or Sainsbury’s. Make TikTok videos, become an Instagram pimp or sell my soul on X. Call centre – I did that once and I hated it. Office admin is not my calling. Photography has lost its joy, it may return and I so live in hope. For I still mourn its loss.
The Only Thing I Want to Do
No, what I want to do is write – because that’s what I do. And if I wake up in a cold sweat tomorrow morning, I’ll accept that too.
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