I wrote a post yesterday about how great my life is going. How much progress I’ve made in the past six months. How everything’s looking good for the future – ‘I’m on a rollercoaster that only goes up,’ as Augustus Waters said.
And then today I’ve got that knot in my stomach and nervous thumping of my heart that means somewhere in the back of my mind is a negative thought that I just can’t shake – in two months my contract is up and I go back to being unemployed.
I’d got overly confident, cocky even, that my contract would just be extended again. It had happened three times before; of course it was going to happen again. I was acting like I was a permanent member of staff; worrying with the others about what the situation would be next year, planning my holidays so that I wouldn’t go over my annual leave allowance, picturing myself there for years to come. I thought I was immune to cursing myself, that my old belief that ‘when things happen in one’s imaginings they never happen in one’s life’ was no longer true. I was an adult now and couldn’t hold to such silly, childish superstitions.
And yet in reality the prospect is looking a little bleak. A lot bleak. And it seems November is going to the month when I have to return to the hateful, soul-destroying task of applying for jobs. And being turned down. Even if I did get a job it wouldn’t be as good as this one. I wouldn’t like the people as much and I’d lose the friends I have made in the office, fade in their memories as just another temp who came and then went.
I might now have a greater skill set, more experience, more confidence even but in so many ways I’m no different to how I was in April. When I face a problem, a bump in the road, I’d rather wallow in it, let myself be defeated by it, than stand up and face it head on, with steely resolve and a plan of action. It’s certainly too early to be calling myself an adult, I’m still very much a work in progress.