TNG Jobsearch Days = Black Holes. It's Science!
I've really got to stop neglecting this journal. I'd hate to look back in a few years and find it full of gaps where awesome or important things have happened but not been recorded.
Let me see - what's gone on over the past week? My novels and art remain at a standstill. I went to the pub with Sian and Emma last Saturday, then invited them to the pub quiz on Thursday. Emma dropped out on account of having no money so it was just Sian and myself, along with Jason, Lee, Dave and a few of the people who'd been there on my very first pub quiz night.
On Wednesday night, I stayed over at Jason's yet again after we watched 'The Hangover 2' - not because we watched 'The Hangover 2', just to clarify. Though it was a bloody good film! And that was also the third Wednesday in a week that I didn't go to the Jam Night. So Anna's probably out for my blood now. And possibly my kidneys.
As for work, work has been very busy, which probably accounts for 50% of my neglecting this journal. We're looking after The Leigh Journal while their editor's on holiday and last week, particularly the 26th and 27th, was absolutely manic. The amount of stuff I got done...!
All that busyness threw the first part of Wednesday into stark contrast. I was doing jobsearch at TNG. I don't believe I've ever written about TNG. I said I would weeks ago, when it was more pertinent to my life as I was going every day, but I never got round to it.
The jobsearch days are absolutely dismal. The staff at TNG are wonderful, don't get me wrong - but even their humour and light-heartedness can't sway the black hole of misery that is jobsearch day. Then there's the fact that normally on Wednesdays I hang out with Jason straight afterwards, so I have something to wait for.
My use of the term 'black hole' before is actually quite appropriate. The misery of jobsearch day catches hold of you and sucks you down into its great maws. The gravity of it means it's almost impossible to get away. And, like a black hole, time distorts - seems to slow down as you edge towards the time to leave.
I'm actually starting to understand why the people who sit there moaning 'this is well shit, this' and 'I can't be fucked with this' are moaning. Though I still think they should shut their faces and keep their boredom to themselves. Misery is contagious and the more they complain, the more cross I get.
So. Work. We've been absolutely inundated, what with having The Leigh Journal on board and a bank holiday Monday behind us. We were aware of an interesting story about allotment thefts and vandalism the week before and Andy wanted it done by Tuesday. Well, come Tuesday morning when he gave me the deadline, I had the very basics but not even a framework written down. I'd tried calling the contact we had but could I get through? No.
Luckily, we dug up a number for some fellow who was connected to the story, who then put us on to a guy who was even closer to the heart of it - the allotments secretary. He gave us the names of three charities who'd been affected by the crime and while I couldn't contact them (again, not answering phones), I could reference them in the article. We got some decent quotes from the allotments secretary, and through talking to both him and the press office for Merseyside Police, we built a pretty good story out of it - for which I got a byline! One of three in this week's Star!
It was absolutely terrifying, though, knowing that my deadline for this article was two hours away and yet nobody would answer their phones. Out of five contacts relating to the story, I only got through to two - the allotments secretary and the police press office. I'd rather been hoping to get some quotes from the affected charities on how this was a heinous crime and they hoped the culprits would be caught but no such luck. It feels a surprisingly rare thing to phone someone for work and actually get through.
Another thing that's kept me busy of late is wrestling with my bloody Student Finance application. Please don't all start squawking 'oh what are you doing, the deadline's gone' - because I already know. Believe me, it's been a thorn in my side for long enough.
I believe that last time I mentioned Student Finance, I had written it off as 'sort of sorted'. I'd phoned them up, explained my situation and they'd put in a request to have that application cancelled so I could put one in for the proper academic year. They told me to give it a few days, check back, and if it was gone, try again.
Well, when I checked it on Tuesday night, a full eight days (five working days) after my first call, and it wasn't gone. This was on May 31st. The deadline. And half an hour remained until their helpline was closed for the night. Ohhh crap.
I got me to the phone, dialled, keyed in the necessary information (reference numbers and all that jazz) and waited. I found myself on hold for twenty-five minutes, listening to tinny music and being occasionally told by a man with a posh voice that 'we can't take your call right now, please hold' before the music died and some Northern bloke took over telling me my chances of getting through before closing time were slim to nonexistent. I made a cup of tea and sat at my computer desk in turmoil, wondering if I'd ever get through.
Lo and behold, I did! At 8:25, five minutes until closing time. The Scottish fellow who took my call not only had an awesome accent but noticed that there had indeed been a cancellation request put in - but nothing had happened yet. He told me that it wasn't unusual as generally they took five working days to process, rather than the 48 hours I'd been told previously. His advice was to give it another day, and then if it wasn't done, I could either wait another five days for his own request to take effect or I could just send in a paper application.
So that's what I did. I printed off all the necessary forms (thank you, Dad, for buying that printer at the flea market!), did my bit, made Dad do his... now it just needs to be sent, preferably by special delivery. And I'm skint. Excellent.
It's mad to think that sending my application off is the last, simple thing required to seal my place at Queen's University, the university I've wanted to go to since I was only thirteen. Once that's sorted, it's just a case of saving up and hauling arse over there in August or September.
Oh, but I'll miss Jason so bloody much when I go over there. I want to tell him how much I think it'll affect me - I've grown to love him over the last few months - but I think if I did I'd break down. And the last thing I want him to see is me getting all wibbly.
Tell you what I am looking forward to, though - having him over while I'm in Ireland. I'd love to have him over in the summer especially, while we're staying in the caravan at Mourneview - it's such a beautiful place and I'd love him to see it. Of course I'll have to make sure it's all good with my Mum and Stepdad first... though, providing we behave ourselves, there shouldn't be a problem. I'm fairly well-behaved and Jason is better behaved than I am!
Since the paper's been released, work has become somewhat quiet. All my stories now revolve around people getting back to me with the details I need. Worse still, one of them's a school-related story; being half term, nobody's in school to answer my calls. I've left a message, but I think it might be best to just phone back on Monday when people are in.
Staying at Jason's on Wednesday was awesome, as usual. We met as usual in Victoria Square - though not on the usual bench as I'd arrived first to find a woman had usurped it - and went to the Glass House. Again, as usual. After that, we went straight back to his, where things were a little tense after his mum and stepdad had had an argument.
A few days before, I'd written something to Jason. A silly little note, quite humorous, but with the intention of making him know how much he means to me. I'd slipped this into the right chest pocket on his coat with the hopes that he'd find it, but to give him a clue I sent him a riddle by text:
"Slipped into the heart of what's worn against rain, but the side is the other, not one and the same."
Get it? "Slipped into the heart of what's worn against rain" = slipped into a chest pocket on his coat. "But the side is the other, not one and the same" = it's on the side opposite the heart, i.e. the right chest pocket.
And he still hasn't figured it out. I hope to god he doesn't decide to stick his coat in the wash before he finds the note. That would be quite - well, all the faffery would be for nothing. I've given him clue after clue, pouring tonnes of thought into hints that give him something to work off but don't give the whole game away.
I don't think I'm going to give him a riddle ever again! I think the poor lad's had enough bafflement for a lifetime!
Anyway, much of Wednesday was spent with him trying to figure said riddle out, and me trying to give hints that wouldn't be too obvious. We chatted in his and drank tea (Tetley's Redbush with vanilla essence <3) while his mum and stepdad Tom exchanged the occasional remark with one-another. I'd find out much later what the argument was about and I would understand immediately why his mum was annoyed. It would also alter my whole opinion of Tom.
Glen showed up after a while for a banter and invited us to the cinema, out of the blue, to watch 'The Hangover 2'. We didn't go with him in the end because of confusion with tickets and people getting in free but we did go with Lee, and the film was hilarious.
Since we had some time to kill before the film, we went to The Glass House for a drink. This is where I learned about what had gone on between Jason's mum and Tom.
Tom's best friend, who suffers from both schizophrenia and alcoholism, has recently been released from a mental home. When he has a drink, he doesn't take the medication that would normally keep the schizophrenia under control. So he'll be drunk, and with his condition on top of that, he'll become extremely paranoid and violent. On several occasions he's smashed people's houses up because he's hallucinated that things were talking to him, and so on and so forth. It's the sad truth about schizophrenia.
Now then. Tom knows full well how this friend gets when he drinks. He doesn't take his medication, gets aggressive... and yet Tom insists on buying him drinks. That's bad enough, right? Well, it gets worse.
Some time between Monday and Wednesday, Tom and this friend were drinking. The friend started going the usual way; he was drunk, his schizophrenia was acting up - and he went berserk. Smashed up the telly in the house they were in, I believe, and it gets worse. He took a hammer and bludgeoned the family pet, a golden retriever called Jake. Jake had to be euthanised.
The stupid thing is, none of this would have happened if Tom hadn't supplied this guy with alcohol. Damage to the property wouldn't have been done, and Jake would still be around, being his goofy self. It's really sad. I know Jason absolutely adored him, and from all the funny stories I've heard, I'm gutted that I never got to meet him before this all went down.
And there I was thinking Tom was a really nice guy, not understanding why Jason isn't particularly keen on him. I see why, now. I mean, he's nice enough to me personally, but to others he isn't very considerate. He doesn't think that alcohol turns his friend into a time-bomb, one who's potentially fatal. If he did that to a pet, imagine what he could do to a person.
Le sigh. Anyway.
The plan had been to go to Pizza Hut after the film, but because of money (i.e. we were both, and subsequently remain penniless) our only option was to go back home. Thankfully Jason had food in so we didn't starve - we just had Asda's own brand pizza rather than the expensive stuff from Pizza Hut!
Because I didn't have my work clothes with me, it meant another 6.30 wake-up so I could go home, get ready and then get the bus back into St Helens. I slept much better that night - I'm probably still adjusting to the idea of sharing a single bed with a Very Tall Bloke - and it was lovely waking up to him kissing me; his warmth. Best morning ever - who needs an alarm clock? His mum and stepdad were up early too because they'd be jetting off to Spain later that day, so I wished them a happy holiday and then it was off to the bus station.
Jason now has the house to himself for a week, so we've agreed that I can stay over on Monday. Bringing my work clothes this time so we can have a decent lie-in! I've got another good weekend ahead of me, actually: I've also got Wales Comic Con with Holly, where I should be having my photo taken with Colin Baker. Holly, meanwhile, will be stalking Gareth David-Lloyd (Ianto from Torchwood) all day.
I may have written about this before - I vaguely remember the topic being touched on briefly in a previous entry - but it's crazy how much my social life has changed in the past few weeks. There are hardly any days now where I have it all to myself. Most days I go out - Monday, Wednesday, Thursday being the regular ones, but last week Tuesday was the only day I didn't go out. No wonder the novels are going nowhere. Perhaps I should work on them when I get home each day...
Let me see - what's gone on over the past week? My novels and art remain at a standstill. I went to the pub with Sian and Emma last Saturday, then invited them to the pub quiz on Thursday. Emma dropped out on account of having no money so it was just Sian and myself, along with Jason, Lee, Dave and a few of the people who'd been there on my very first pub quiz night.
On Wednesday night, I stayed over at Jason's yet again after we watched 'The Hangover 2' - not because we watched 'The Hangover 2', just to clarify. Though it was a bloody good film! And that was also the third Wednesday in a week that I didn't go to the Jam Night. So Anna's probably out for my blood now. And possibly my kidneys.
As for work, work has been very busy, which probably accounts for 50% of my neglecting this journal. We're looking after The Leigh Journal while their editor's on holiday and last week, particularly the 26th and 27th, was absolutely manic. The amount of stuff I got done...!
All that busyness threw the first part of Wednesday into stark contrast. I was doing jobsearch at TNG. I don't believe I've ever written about TNG. I said I would weeks ago, when it was more pertinent to my life as I was going every day, but I never got round to it.
The jobsearch days are absolutely dismal. The staff at TNG are wonderful, don't get me wrong - but even their humour and light-heartedness can't sway the black hole of misery that is jobsearch day. Then there's the fact that normally on Wednesdays I hang out with Jason straight afterwards, so I have something to wait for.
My use of the term 'black hole' before is actually quite appropriate. The misery of jobsearch day catches hold of you and sucks you down into its great maws. The gravity of it means it's almost impossible to get away. And, like a black hole, time distorts - seems to slow down as you edge towards the time to leave.
I'm actually starting to understand why the people who sit there moaning 'this is well shit, this' and 'I can't be fucked with this' are moaning. Though I still think they should shut their faces and keep their boredom to themselves. Misery is contagious and the more they complain, the more cross I get.
So. Work. We've been absolutely inundated, what with having The Leigh Journal on board and a bank holiday Monday behind us. We were aware of an interesting story about allotment thefts and vandalism the week before and Andy wanted it done by Tuesday. Well, come Tuesday morning when he gave me the deadline, I had the very basics but not even a framework written down. I'd tried calling the contact we had but could I get through? No.
Luckily, we dug up a number for some fellow who was connected to the story, who then put us on to a guy who was even closer to the heart of it - the allotments secretary. He gave us the names of three charities who'd been affected by the crime and while I couldn't contact them (again, not answering phones), I could reference them in the article. We got some decent quotes from the allotments secretary, and through talking to both him and the press office for Merseyside Police, we built a pretty good story out of it - for which I got a byline! One of three in this week's Star!
It was absolutely terrifying, though, knowing that my deadline for this article was two hours away and yet nobody would answer their phones. Out of five contacts relating to the story, I only got through to two - the allotments secretary and the police press office. I'd rather been hoping to get some quotes from the affected charities on how this was a heinous crime and they hoped the culprits would be caught but no such luck. It feels a surprisingly rare thing to phone someone for work and actually get through.
Another thing that's kept me busy of late is wrestling with my bloody Student Finance application. Please don't all start squawking 'oh what are you doing, the deadline's gone' - because I already know. Believe me, it's been a thorn in my side for long enough.
I believe that last time I mentioned Student Finance, I had written it off as 'sort of sorted'. I'd phoned them up, explained my situation and they'd put in a request to have that application cancelled so I could put one in for the proper academic year. They told me to give it a few days, check back, and if it was gone, try again.
Well, when I checked it on Tuesday night, a full eight days (five working days) after my first call, and it wasn't gone. This was on May 31st. The deadline. And half an hour remained until their helpline was closed for the night. Ohhh crap.
I got me to the phone, dialled, keyed in the necessary information (reference numbers and all that jazz) and waited. I found myself on hold for twenty-five minutes, listening to tinny music and being occasionally told by a man with a posh voice that 'we can't take your call right now, please hold' before the music died and some Northern bloke took over telling me my chances of getting through before closing time were slim to nonexistent. I made a cup of tea and sat at my computer desk in turmoil, wondering if I'd ever get through.
Lo and behold, I did! At 8:25, five minutes until closing time. The Scottish fellow who took my call not only had an awesome accent but noticed that there had indeed been a cancellation request put in - but nothing had happened yet. He told me that it wasn't unusual as generally they took five working days to process, rather than the 48 hours I'd been told previously. His advice was to give it another day, and then if it wasn't done, I could either wait another five days for his own request to take effect or I could just send in a paper application.
So that's what I did. I printed off all the necessary forms (thank you, Dad, for buying that printer at the flea market!), did my bit, made Dad do his... now it just needs to be sent, preferably by special delivery. And I'm skint. Excellent.
It's mad to think that sending my application off is the last, simple thing required to seal my place at Queen's University, the university I've wanted to go to since I was only thirteen. Once that's sorted, it's just a case of saving up and hauling arse over there in August or September.
Oh, but I'll miss Jason so bloody much when I go over there. I want to tell him how much I think it'll affect me - I've grown to love him over the last few months - but I think if I did I'd break down. And the last thing I want him to see is me getting all wibbly.
Tell you what I am looking forward to, though - having him over while I'm in Ireland. I'd love to have him over in the summer especially, while we're staying in the caravan at Mourneview - it's such a beautiful place and I'd love him to see it. Of course I'll have to make sure it's all good with my Mum and Stepdad first... though, providing we behave ourselves, there shouldn't be a problem. I'm fairly well-behaved and Jason is better behaved than I am!
Since the paper's been released, work has become somewhat quiet. All my stories now revolve around people getting back to me with the details I need. Worse still, one of them's a school-related story; being half term, nobody's in school to answer my calls. I've left a message, but I think it might be best to just phone back on Monday when people are in.
Staying at Jason's on Wednesday was awesome, as usual. We met as usual in Victoria Square - though not on the usual bench as I'd arrived first to find a woman had usurped it - and went to the Glass House. Again, as usual. After that, we went straight back to his, where things were a little tense after his mum and stepdad had had an argument.
A few days before, I'd written something to Jason. A silly little note, quite humorous, but with the intention of making him know how much he means to me. I'd slipped this into the right chest pocket on his coat with the hopes that he'd find it, but to give him a clue I sent him a riddle by text:
"Slipped into the heart of what's worn against rain, but the side is the other, not one and the same."
Get it? "Slipped into the heart of what's worn against rain" = slipped into a chest pocket on his coat. "But the side is the other, not one and the same" = it's on the side opposite the heart, i.e. the right chest pocket.
And he still hasn't figured it out. I hope to god he doesn't decide to stick his coat in the wash before he finds the note. That would be quite - well, all the faffery would be for nothing. I've given him clue after clue, pouring tonnes of thought into hints that give him something to work off but don't give the whole game away.
I don't think I'm going to give him a riddle ever again! I think the poor lad's had enough bafflement for a lifetime!
Anyway, much of Wednesday was spent with him trying to figure said riddle out, and me trying to give hints that wouldn't be too obvious. We chatted in his and drank tea (Tetley's Redbush with vanilla essence <3) while his mum and stepdad Tom exchanged the occasional remark with one-another. I'd find out much later what the argument was about and I would understand immediately why his mum was annoyed. It would also alter my whole opinion of Tom.
Glen showed up after a while for a banter and invited us to the cinema, out of the blue, to watch 'The Hangover 2'. We didn't go with him in the end because of confusion with tickets and people getting in free but we did go with Lee, and the film was hilarious.
Since we had some time to kill before the film, we went to The Glass House for a drink. This is where I learned about what had gone on between Jason's mum and Tom.
Tom's best friend, who suffers from both schizophrenia and alcoholism, has recently been released from a mental home. When he has a drink, he doesn't take the medication that would normally keep the schizophrenia under control. So he'll be drunk, and with his condition on top of that, he'll become extremely paranoid and violent. On several occasions he's smashed people's houses up because he's hallucinated that things were talking to him, and so on and so forth. It's the sad truth about schizophrenia.
Now then. Tom knows full well how this friend gets when he drinks. He doesn't take his medication, gets aggressive... and yet Tom insists on buying him drinks. That's bad enough, right? Well, it gets worse.
Some time between Monday and Wednesday, Tom and this friend were drinking. The friend started going the usual way; he was drunk, his schizophrenia was acting up - and he went berserk. Smashed up the telly in the house they were in, I believe, and it gets worse. He took a hammer and bludgeoned the family pet, a golden retriever called Jake. Jake had to be euthanised.
The stupid thing is, none of this would have happened if Tom hadn't supplied this guy with alcohol. Damage to the property wouldn't have been done, and Jake would still be around, being his goofy self. It's really sad. I know Jason absolutely adored him, and from all the funny stories I've heard, I'm gutted that I never got to meet him before this all went down.
And there I was thinking Tom was a really nice guy, not understanding why Jason isn't particularly keen on him. I see why, now. I mean, he's nice enough to me personally, but to others he isn't very considerate. He doesn't think that alcohol turns his friend into a time-bomb, one who's potentially fatal. If he did that to a pet, imagine what he could do to a person.
Le sigh. Anyway.
The plan had been to go to Pizza Hut after the film, but because of money (i.e. we were both, and subsequently remain penniless) our only option was to go back home. Thankfully Jason had food in so we didn't starve - we just had Asda's own brand pizza rather than the expensive stuff from Pizza Hut!
Because I didn't have my work clothes with me, it meant another 6.30 wake-up so I could go home, get ready and then get the bus back into St Helens. I slept much better that night - I'm probably still adjusting to the idea of sharing a single bed with a Very Tall Bloke - and it was lovely waking up to him kissing me; his warmth. Best morning ever - who needs an alarm clock? His mum and stepdad were up early too because they'd be jetting off to Spain later that day, so I wished them a happy holiday and then it was off to the bus station.
Jason now has the house to himself for a week, so we've agreed that I can stay over on Monday. Bringing my work clothes this time so we can have a decent lie-in! I've got another good weekend ahead of me, actually: I've also got Wales Comic Con with Holly, where I should be having my photo taken with Colin Baker. Holly, meanwhile, will be stalking Gareth David-Lloyd (Ianto from Torchwood) all day.
I may have written about this before - I vaguely remember the topic being touched on briefly in a previous entry - but it's crazy how much my social life has changed in the past few weeks. There are hardly any days now where I have it all to myself. Most days I go out - Monday, Wednesday, Thursday being the regular ones, but last week Tuesday was the only day I didn't go out. No wonder the novels are going nowhere. Perhaps I should work on them when I get home each day...