Post African nation break, sans malaria (fingers crossed), avec tan (well, a ginger tan, otherwise known as freckles) and ready to GET A JOB.
Then the FEAR hits me.
I can’t sleep.
I wake up in the early hours with little seeds of panic flying about inside my head, which implant themselves into my brain, growing into a big flipping tree of self doubt.
I awoke this morning thinking about Kate Silverton, the BBC Breakfast presenter, not in a dirty way, of course (never been one for the 80s cropped hair and pastel power suits), but in a comparative way.
There she was, white of teeth and glossy of lips, probably already in make-up, ready to tackle the big issues of the day and, let’s be honest, occasionally the somewhat fluffier issues. There I was, in bed, jobless and racked with concern at the thought.
I’ll admit it. I am terrified about never finding a JOB. Tears well up in my eyes and I get pins and needles in my nose when I think about it (don’t ask, I am a very unattractive weeper)..I feel like a girl who has been dumped and sees reminders of her old love at every turn.
Meeting former colleagues for lunch, reminds me that I once had a function in society and was paid for it. Hanging out with my friends, who were so supportive of my decision, I sense their disappointment that my new world of opportunities has yet failed to yield anything amazing. Even a letter from the Inland Revenue yesterday, kindly providing me with my new tax code and informing me that they “believe I am currently in between jobs” was enough to start the chin wobbling. I thought it sounded like a little bit of a loaded statement from the old I-Rev.
Tis a hard week, this one. But then I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Deep breaths and apply some bronzer (although I must tread carefully here, as combined with the ginger hair, I am concerned I am starting to resemble a clementine).
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