1. Darling, whatever happened to all the smoky piano bars?

 

I think I’m an extrovert trapped in an introvert’s body.

But enough about that. I need to make a confession, or perhaps all I need is to write this down and then throw it out into the universe… to get it out of me, to share it, to gather some sympathy so that I can convince myself that I didn’t make a huge mistake.

So, here it is.

I quit my job.

Without a plan and without another job ready and waiting for me. I just called and quit because I knew that if I went back there, I would die there. As melodramatic as that sounds.

So, now I am unemployed, with no money, no savings and a few bills to pay.

But, although I wake up each morning with a worry on my back, I also wake up each morning without dread, now that has to be worth something, right?

But most people hate their jobs, they just have to grow up and do it because they have no other choice, they need the money to survive. That was the reason I took the job in the first place, because I had to get a job. Because it was expected, because it was necessary, not because I wanted it, or would enjoy it, but because I had to do something.

This is probably all very boring, but I must apologise and in the same breath say: ‘I’m not writing this for you, unknown reader.’ Although, I did just say I wanted sympathy and someone to tell me that: ‘Yes, you did the right thing, how brave you are.’ So, let me tell you the rest of the story.

People are supposed to celebrate when they get that phone call saying: ‘Congratulations! You got the job!’

I cried, for about half an hour. In the two minutes that the call lasted, the dream world I created around myself where one day I would be a successful, famous, published author slash artist, crumbled around me and died. All that was left was a twenty-six year old cashier who would spend the rest of her life working in a department store, and never be anything more. I went to work every day and smiled and pretended and dreaded the day when I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore, the day that I would truly be happy to work there, the day that I really did have nothing else to live for. What made things worse was that everyone around me really did seem to enjoy the job and were all so happy to be there, and they didn’t seem to be pretending.

Sooner or later I knew that I was either going to explode or implode… and so I quit. No, that’s not what happened. Nothing’s that simple, but I had you going there. The reality of it was a lot more messy… and pathetic.

The day it all started was the 20th of December. A Thursday.

My alarm woke me up. I got out of bed, put on my dressing gown and sat at the top of the stairs unable to get myself to move, because I knew, the moment I did, I would have to get ready and go to work. It took me half an hour to move, but I did it, with all the strength and will I had left. See, pathetic, I did warn you.

I went to work; fake happiness plastered on and had no real problems, until I went on my lunch break. I was sat in the staff room, just about to tuck into a caramel waffle when my supervisor kneels down next to me with a notepad and pen and says: “I hate doing this, but there’s been some discrepancies with your till, it’s happened five times and you’re the worst one, if it happens again, I’m going to have to contact H.R, and they’ll have to take action… I thought one of the others would have talked to you about this by now.”

Then she walked out and left me alone to finish my lunch. Like I could eat after that.

Now, I’ve been told all sorts of things about this: “These things happen.” “You have to just toughen up and get on with things.”, the toughen up one I’ve been told a lot, it’s their kind way of telling me I shouldn’t have quit over such a trivial thing, that it was a stupid thing to do. But it wasn’t the reason I quit, it was just the bullet that ended the chain reaction that had started long before.

But, back to that day. I did try to tough it out. I went back out onto the shop floor and started the second half of my shift, which was bag packing. Tills in the morning, bag packing in the afternoon. I thought I was doing fine, fake happiness plastered on, helpful attitude on full alert. Then I saw my aunty doing her shopping, she walked up to me to say hello and I just burst into tears and told her I didn’t want to be there anymore.

She drove me home and sorted everything out for me, for which I am really grateful, and left me with a decision to make. Did I want to go back?

I didn’t go to work the next day, and I didn’t call to tell them, which I have since apologised to them for. That night I went to ‘High Tease’ in Bath, a burlesque show. It was a good night; with some smoke machine hidden somewhere to simulate the cigarette smoke that would have filled the darkened room in day’s gone. Nostalgia. I had already made up my mind in some way that night, and the next day, I called up and quit. And this is where it really all begins, because the moment I quit, I felt like the world had really, truly opened up to me. I could now do anything, there was nothing holding me back. In fact, the fact that I have left myself with no safety net is what is driving me forward with such force, I can’t fail now. I am going to be a successful now. I have no choice, more importantly, it’s what I want, not what I need to do, what I want.

So here I am, with so much to do, and a little fear biting at my heels and rear.

And I have to ask, what do you think?

Have I made a mistake, or have I taken the first steps to something greater?

(I know, that sounded so cheesy.)

However, right now, in the present moment I am expected to start again, to go through all that torture of looking for a job, signing on, whoring myself out to agencies. Why? People have forgotten that the reason they get jobs is because they either enjoy the work or need the money to pay for something they do enjoy. Getting a job has become about having a job just for the sake of having a job. But what if you’re happy without money, what if you’re content with just the little you can scrape together from the odd job here and there to pay your bills? Are you still by some law required to have a full time job that you don’t really want?

I probably am breaking some laws, probably. I don’t have a regular wage going into my bank account, so how are the government meant to take half of said wage out in tax?

I am a bad, bad girl.

I’m sure they’ll make me pay eventually. But I don’t need to worry about eventually. Eventually is not today.

At the beginning of January I began working on two commissions, both of which are now done. I haven’t been paid yet, it’s a cash in hand deal. The customer is going to pick them up in person and hand over the money then. In the meantime I’ve been given the opportunity to take part in this year’s Easton Arts Trail, to drum up some more business and get my name out there. I’ve been catching up on my reading, it was piling up, I’ve done some gardening… my life has been simple, just how I like it.

Right now I have the glorious sum of four pounds in my bank account, isn’t that exciting! I wonder what an adventure I can have with four pounds…

 

Wonderful adventure, here I come!