Waiting

Sorry, you have been waiting for this blog. I did promise I’d write weekly and I’ve kept you all well, waiting. To be honest if you are a regular blog reader you’ll be aware that my life hasn’t been scintillating recently, the last Buffy themed entry being a testament to that. Plus, I’ve been a bit melancholy with the whole jobless thing neither of which is contusive to cheerful blog writing.

So today, the theme is waiting. I’m writing this as I wait for Andi’s bed to be delivered. For those of you unaware, Andi had just bought a flat in Edinburgh, but lives in Fort William. Fortunately for him he has an unemployed friend who has the time to sit about his house waiting for things to be delivered. Last Friday I also did this and was actually a little disappointed that by 1030 all the people had come, delivered their wears and were off again. It meant I had to go do something productive with my day and not just hole up in a corner of Andi’s unfurnished flat watching the extra features of my heroes season 3 DVD boxset like I had planned (don’t get me started on Heroes, while a silly programme with massive plot holes, it has become my new obsession, a mere pale comparison to Buffy of course, but nothing could ever fill that gaping hole in my heart).

Anyway, so waiting has become a major part of life recently and it dawned on me that waiting had been a major feature of most of my life in its entirety. I hated school, and spent my entire day waiting for the school day to be over. I then hated work and spent the day wishing my life away for the few precious moments I had at home before going in for another shift. And finally since moving to Edinburgh, I have been waiting to get a job. Now of course during my wait, I have been doing stuff. Seeing friends, decorating houses, moving a lot of other people’s furniture, but essentially in the back ground, waiting.

This concerns me. Should waiting define my life? But then looking around me and I notice a lot of my friends and family are doing the same thing. A lot of my medic friends are going through the hideous interview process again and waiting to hear if they have got the jobs they so want (and deserve). My mother is still waiting for her house to be finished! And it occurs to me that perhaps waiting isn’t a bad thing, perhaps in fact it us what it is all about.

Hmm how to explain what I’m getting at. I’ll use the medium of film as it’s the one I am most familiar with. When you are watching a good film or a TV series, you are desperately waiting to find out what happens next and how things will end. But when you do, it’s done, finished and even if you’ve enjoyed it, there is part of you that wishes you could go back and watch it all again with no memory of seeing it in the first place; to get that feeling back, the excitement of waiting to see what happens next. Will the goodies prevail? How will things turn out? Seeing things you weren’t expecting, surprises, delights, expectation. It’s all part of the process of enjoying the production.

And this is how I have decided to try and view my life. Everyone knows that the best part of a film is watching the protagonist going through a hard time and then in the end emerge triumphant. So I am nominating myself as the hero of my own life film. This is my difficult time, my cross roads, my period of transition. I will eventually get a job, things will change and for good or ill, I will and find out the outcome of this chapter of my story.

But until then, I just have to wait.

The Plan

So last week I told you about the list and not putting things off till tomorrow. This week I give mention to the plan. The plan has emerged directly from the list. The list was just the stepping stone.

The first few days of the list filled me with a great passion and I did things that I had been putting off for ages. Andi was still hanging about like annoying step-child and kept dragging me along to buy paint and mirrors and the like (I secretly enjoy this but don’t tell him, I might need favours in the future) so I put him to good use. I decided finally after all this time, it was time to get rid of Buffy. Yes, my Buffy VHS collection was going to dust. I must state here, I did buy Buffy the complete series on DVD box set some months ago so, never fear, I am not Buffy-less, but it was time I got rid of my mixture of taped off TV Buffy videos and bought VHS box sets.

For those of you who don’t know, Buffy was a popular teen fantasy drama that lasted for 7 seasons starring Sarah Michelle Geller. It was pivotal in re-starting the popular media interest in vampire lore and was also the first main stream TV series to have a strong female main character and mainly female supporting cast. It was shown very late on BBC2 and my passion for it could not wait for this to happen. Also BBC2 edited the crap out of it too; I mean sentences just cut off mid way through- intolerable. Now fortunately for me, I had two lovely neighbours the Crombies in my old (now sold) family home. They had Sky television and every Thursday/Friday night for over 5 years they either allowed me to come over and watch Buffy; if they were out they set the tape up for me or gave me the keys to their house so I could watch it in their absence. I know, amazing kindness to a desperate teen. However it didn’t stop there. When I finally went to university, they continued to tape it for until finally series 7 finished and they were released of their obligation to me. What lovely people, shout out to them.

Anyway, so the point of that little homage was that I had kept all these tapes for all these years, but as we know VHS is dead, long live DVD, so I have upgraded. Thus the Buffy tapes had to go. My landlady wife was on nights last week and was trying my darnedest to be quiet during the day so she could sleep in peace. I keep my Buffy videos on top of my wardrobe in a plastic box. It’s a high wardrobe that required me to stand on a chair and hand the box to an expectant Andi. Unfortunately, as I passed it to him the box completely disintegrated on his head and Buffy videos went flying everywhere crashing to the ground in a most alarming manner. I froze- had we woken my wife?! No. Phew. And fortunately, Andi was still conscious. I like to think of this as the Buffy videos final hoorah, a silent, but spectacular assault on an oppressive male (well, sometimes he tells me I look like I’ve not got any make-up on when I do just to annoy me; so not oppressive, but a bit annoying). Goodbye Buffy VHS, I loved you so.

Wow, that was far too much about Buffy. I think have a Buffy problem. I need to go to Buffy-holics anonymous. Oh, dear lord stop!

So the plan. Yes, the plan emerged from the list. The list was working well, but soon it began to take a life of its own requiring appendages and notes all over the edges. This was not orderly, so I came up with the plan. The plan is a list of ultimate goals and things I’m working toward. I cannot do all the things in the plan straight away so I write a daily list from the plan using it as a reference to keep me on track. Clear now?

I could tell you about the plan, but I think I’ve bored you enough with the Buffy story so suffice to say there is a plan and hopefully something will come of it.

Hmm, I feel this a particularly boring blog entry, but I’ve written it now and feel it would be wasteful to delete it so like it or lump it that’s what you are getting this week. It’s finally happened. The unemployment has won, I now officially have nothing to say, dullness has enveloped me entirely, the ‘fun’ part of day is watching an amusing clip on YouTube, getting a bargain in pound stretcher or seeing a minor celebrity in John Lewis – that was on Sunday last; Angus Purden famed for being the face of the Postcode lottery on STV and also one of the hosts of Cash in the Attic. He was wearing a blue puffa jacket and was looking at kitchen appliances.

Oh, heaven help me why do I know that?! Please, someone, give me a job!

Tomorrow

Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow. I’d do it tomorrow. That is today’s blog theme. Firstly however, I must do the necessary and talk about the festive period. I last left you with the knowledge that I had an interview on the 22^nd. ‘How did it go’ I hear you ask, well let me tell you...

The interview was scheduled for 330pm. I had calculated that I would leave the house a bit after 2pm to ensure I got a bus in plenty of time and found the place (it was a 40 minute bus trip away at least). As many of you know, I am messy so I had decided not to dress in my interview clothes or do my hair until the last minute. At 1pm I got a phone call from he interview people that went as follows

‘Oh, hello is that Morag Christie’

Yes

‘This *Blank Blank* from Blankety Blank’

Yes

‘I know it’s an inconvenience, but do you think you could come in an hour early, it would be great for us as we’ve had a cancellation’

I then had two choices.

1: To say yes to please them and run around madly to get ready

2: Say no and risk losing their favour.

I said

Yes, that’s no problem.

The next ten minutes I can only describe to you as a frenzy of unadulterated action. When they had called I’d just made cheese on toast (with Wooster sauce) and hadn’t had a bite. I crammed a few bits in my mouth, dashed to get changed, tore through my hair with a pair of (Sarah’s) hair straighteners and ran out the door, briefcase flapping (yes, briefcase, I’m a professional). I then faced an unexpected problem. I was wearing high heels. Many of you may have noticed, it’s been a wee bit snowy and icy lately and I then had to navigate my much ungritted icy road to get to the bus stop. I eventually arrived at my destination and quite soon my bus appeared. Hoorah, I thought, it’s going to get better now. But no. The bus was going very slowly, it was busy and snowy so I didn’t pay much heed. Then it got slower and slower and slower. Then it stopped. A wee voice came over the tannoy ‘Would everyone leave the bus please’ so we did and fortunately another bus was waiting. Now whether this was a scheduled bus swap (why though?) or the bus was in genuine trouble, I do not know, however the next bus seemed to whiz along and eventually I got to my stop. I then faced the high heel snow/ice dilemma again, but managed with little incident to get to the office. On my arrival the place seemed deathly quiet apart from the sound of sobbing, off putting to say the least. I checked in (albeit a very smiley man at desk, not sobbing) and sat down. It was then I located the sobbing- it was the TV showing the funeral procession of fallen soldiers. Moving, but not the soundtrack one needs before an interview. I had, I must mentioned, despite everything arrived 20 minutes early. It was then I noticed a sign asking you to use the hand gel to kill the naughty swine flues germs so being a good girl I put it on. This stuff was curious, it came out bright green and foamy and wouldn’t blend in to my hands. Rub as I might, I was left with a curious sticky residue. It was then of course, my interviewer arrived and I had to shake her hand. Cripes. As you imagine, by this stage I was beyond reason and I have no idea how the interview went. I still don’t know as they said they’d let me know at the of January.

Anyway, moving swiftly on to more pleasant things, Christmas. Now, I’m not going into go into too much detail here, as to be honest that would be dull. Basically, the 23^rd saw a new wave of snow descend on Edinburgh and on arriving at the bus station I discovered my bus would be leaving at least 3 hours late. Much dismay. In the mature way of all children I phoned my mum to whine, like she could do anything about it. Well, she could! She knew that my step-cousin was driving through from Edinburgh that very morning and after a series of phone calls I got hold of her and hey presto a mere 15 minutes later, I was dashing up north with tenuously linked family member. The Dingwall network saves the day!

I arrived home only to leave again. Not until I was reunited with my best girl Aimie the exotic teacher (she’s lives in Dubai= exotic, no dancing as far as I know) and did the Dingwall pub quiz which was controversially moved to the Picture house from the Mallard (Dingwall readers ‘gasp’, all else go ‘what?’). My team didn’t win, but more importantly my team beat Niall’s team. Grin. Niall did however win marshmallows and white lightening cider in the amazing pub Christmas raffle, so one wonders who the real winner was.

Anyway, after a flurry of hellos and goodbyes, on Christmas Eve, mum and I made the brave drive down to Richard’s in Killin. Yes, we decided to spend Christmas with the Borg and despite having to stop every so often to physically wash the crap off the windscreen as the washers were frozen despite near 100% screen wash, it was an uneventful journey. Christmas day was nice, food presents, dogs and wonderfully watching LOTR; Fellowship of the Ring in the evening. Due to the worrying forecast, we headed back early on Boxing Day and the next few days were spent with the rest of family, eating and drinking and the like. The journey back to the burgh was not nice, over 5 hours on a bus fearing for my life as the snow pummelled down on the 30^th, but I arrived safely, eventually.

Hogmanay saw a new set of plans arise. It was my intention for many weeks hence to go to a ceilidh in Glasgow with assorted cousins. But on wakening, I found myself shattered and feeling reluctant to go. Added to this was the knowledge kiddie doc Jen was having a small soirée to which a few friends including Karen from the Borders (whom I had not seen in quite some time) were attending. The previous night, my eldest brother had been lamenting his lack of plans and it was then I stumbled upon an idea. Why not give him the ticket, he’ll dance and be gay and I’ll stay in Edinburgh, see my friends and have a reasonable night’s sleep (any night out with my Glasgow cousins never results in a good night’s sleep). And this is what I did. Niall did indeed dance and have a splendid time and I went to Jen’s who fed us a huge amount of food, drank champagne and watched the fireworks at the bells. So it all worked out just beautifully.

Since then it’s been back to the grindstone of job hunting intermittently dispersed with having Andi of the Fort come round and pester me to get things and plan the decoration of his flat (which he’s yet to get keys for) as he’s on holiday in the burgh. I enjoy planning house decoration and sorting out; all those mornings watching ‘Homes under the hammer’ were not wasted.

Now we come to the title of today’s blog ‘Tomorrow’. Last night as I was watching BBC iplayer in bed (my landlady wife at work on nights again) and I was feeling a touch melancholy. Upsetting thoughts running through my mind like ‘I’ll never get a job’ and ‘what if when I get a job I don’t like it’ and ‘what if I get a job and don’t like it, but can’t afford to leave it so instead of living the dream I’ll end working in an endless 9 to 5 existence with no meaning or pleasure.’ That sort of thing. Then I began to think about all the things I keep meaning to do like take stuff to the charity shop, make a doctor’s appointment, work on my eportfolio in case I get a pathology interview and I was thinking that everything was just getting all on top of me, all these little things on top of all the big things and BLAH!!!!!!!!!!!

I keep saying ‘tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll deal with it tomorrow’ and then at midnight I have irrational panic. So I decided. No more ‘tomorrow’, it’s time for ‘today’ to start. So I made a list of things I need to do. Just a few little things, but today I did 5 out of 6 of them. And it felt good just to start getting the things I can control under control. Okay it probably won’t change my life or the world, but it makes me feel more in charge of my own life and as such tonight instead of ‘tomorrow, tomorrow’, I’m thinking ‘hoorah today!’ So my advice is to you, however small or big the worries are-

No more tomorrows, today is here!