Unemployment blues

 In a few days, I will 'celebrate' three months of unemployment.  That is not a sentence I imagined I'd be typing - I'm not sure if that was blind naivety or optimism.  I'm not going to write about 'the situation', because so many websites are doing that, in one way or another.

Personally, it's tough.  Of course it is.  It's frustrating, lonely, boring and disheartening.  I miss seeing people every day and the engagement, interaction and stimulation that work brings.  I've tried to compensate for some of that with reading, writing and activities like walking and visiting museums, although not nearly enough.  It's hard to get the balance between 'MUST JOB HUNT' and looking for voluntary work or trying improve myself or my CV in some way.  I could write a lot more but, essentially, being unemployed tends to make me feel a little like this:

Image courtesy of the Cat Pet Shop blog 

Naturally, the financial impact of unemployment is heavy.  I'm extremely grateful that I don't have any children or dependents and I have neither a mortgage nor a car to maintain.  Luckily, for the last few weeks at least, Housing Benefit has covered my rent and Jobseekers' Allowance has covered most of my bills and food, enabling me to job hunt without the crippling fear of being evicted or starving.  

I thought I'd write about what I miss most, obviously in a very spoilt, luxurious and probably selfish way.  As the weeks go by, I'm noticing more and more things I'd like to have replaced or bought.  Most notable this week are birthday presents: I have five family birthdays between this week and mid November, with another before Christmas, plus mine and a couple of close friends'.  Of course, most people have told me that I needn't buy them anything, but not being able to do so is (or would be - I have some potential ideas) very frustrating.   Trying to get beyond this and even begin to consider Christmas, I find myself starting to wish that some kind of Grinch would steal the festive season.  Alternatively, this lady could cast her evil spell on the land and ensure it is eternally winter, but never Christmas:

One problem with that (and there always is a problem with these misdemeanours) is that I'm in desperate need of a really warm winter coat - something I could have done with during the last two winters at least, and have not yet bought.  The same applies to glasses, as on the rare days I wear them I'm actually using lenses that are too weak for my needs.  I could also do with some shoes and boots, as the one pair I have (save 'interview shoes' and trainers for exercising) that aren't broken are slightly battered boots, which I wear everywhere and will inevitably wear out from all the pressure I'm putting on the poor soles (oh, what a pun, Suki!)

I'd also love to have been able to replace several luxuries over the last few months.  I'm in need of a hair cut, my poor hairdresser couldn't believe what he was looking at when he cut my fringe a few weeks ago.  I've burnt all of the (inexpensive, but nevertheless lovely) scented candles I like to have in my bedroom.  I've also run out of alcohol completely, and with friends coming for dinner (cheap option and a way to see friends who are employed and able to go out more often than I can currently), it'd be great to offer them some wine.  Plus, let's face it, I like booze.  Most devastating (relatively) is the fact that most of my lovely collection of nail varnishes have gone gloopy.  Barry has let me down finally.  The man I on whom I thought I could depend.  And it is a dark day.

Image courtesy of Marie Claire.  

I don't actually have all these colours, sadly.

I wanted to write a lighthearted article about the completely selfish woes of being unemployed - a break from the hundreds and hundreds of pieces about the job market and the increasing rates of unemployment (although, arguably, such articles are keeping someone in a job).  Currently, I think this will read as completely self-centred.  One of the benefits of having a 'secret blog', I guess.  Barry will never know how much he's disappointed me.

There's no reason why you should be the person who reads my observations

I've just discovered the song 'Nervous Breakdown' by Black Flag.  Loving Frank Turner has its benefits when it comes to uncovering great (often older) bands: bands he covers, who I feel I really should know if I wanted to be any kind of music fan.

I've never considered myself a huge music 'fan'.  When I said that to someone at Glastonbury this year, he said: 'So, why are you at a music festival?'.  I love music. I love hearing new things and sharing it with others.  But I've never considered music as my 'life', like some people do.  I don't spend all my money and time on it and I can't relay hundreds of facts about a band or specific album or immediately recall the name of an artist's cat/mother/guitar.  I think I've never had the time, money or perhaps inclination to spend hours discovering new bands.  Perhaps it's partly because I didn't do so when lots of people seem to - as teenagers.  Sharing a room with two sisters and having one CD-Radio-Cassette player meant time alone was fairly rare and chances to dominate our playlist scarce.   We didn't tend to listen to John Peel late at night; the internet was shared too (and, let's face it, I spent much of my time typing to pointless [and a few less pointless] people on MSN Messenger).  Money was perhaps a factor.  Some people seem to have spent all their earnings and/or allowance on fashion or music.  I'm not sure what I spent mine on.  Possibly trying to keep up with some set of Joneses, possibly trying to discover what I am and what I wanted.  Why is that something the majority of humans seem to agonise over?

One of the aspects of music I love is being able to share it.  Strangely enough, I talk about it rarely -if ever- with my female friends.  We cover a plethora of subjects from books to people we know to people we don't (normally historical or literary figures) to fashion to, naturally, food.  It's siblings and male friends I seem to share music with more.  And when I find myself spending time with someone who talks about a subject with real passion, it's fantastic.   Until it (and they) seem to, inevitably, disappear.

Possibly the greatest thing about a Frank Turner gig is singing along with hundreds (nay, thousands now!) of other fans, who all know every single word too.  He plays intimate gigs beautifully (so I've heard... I've not had the privilege of being truly 'intimate' with FT!), but I'm optimistic that next years' gig at Wembley will be just as uplifting.

Intimacy seems to be something I associate with music to some extent.  I think it's like passion.  It's the idea of sharing something great with someone else; someone who, like me, loves it, despite the fact we're so different.  As someone who spends so much time alone, and who finds it difficult to express myself; to open up or to be understood, it's always brilliant to find someone with whom I can share something real.  These people are few and far between and, although those that disappear are probably not worthy of time or thought, it's always sad when they go.  'Exuent Friend'.

Tomorrow, my friend Joe is very kindly taking me to see Dananananaykroyd on their final tour date in Bristol.  He was adamant that I see them before they split up and, despite my 'I'm unemployed!' protests, he bought me a ticket as a birthday present.  Thank you, Joe!  If I get very sweaty and crushed and smothered by bearded men in the famous 'wall of cuddles', I shan't mind, because I know it'll lift me and make me want to throw rum over myself in excitement.  Actually, that's probably pretty inevitable...