Back on the Donut Gang

Next week, I will have been in my new job for two months.  The time seems to have flown by.  I still feel very much like 'the new person', however I feel less scared and far less overwhelmed.  I also feel better than I have in months.  The lift in mood, morale and outlook has been amazing. I will never believe that people want to sit around all day with no money, no purpose and no prospects, no matter how much the media may try and tell us that.  It didn't matter how much voluntary work and community work I did, I wanted and needed a paying job, as much for my sense of self-worth as for my finances.   

When I first got the job, my friends and family were all really pleased for me.  I was completely non-committal.  I just didn't want to tempt fate.  I kept on expecting someone to call or write to me and tell me that they had just realised that I was actively looking for work, whereas they really wanted someone who had to work out their three months notice.  But this didn't happen and day one arrived.  I was more prepared than I have ever been in my life.  The four-year old across the road tried her new uniform on so often in the month before she started school that her mother hid it.  My mother lives too far away to come and hide my clothes, so I got to spend an inordinate amount of time arranging my work wardrobe.  After months of dressing like a tramp, I dragged out clothes and shoes that had been in the loft for an eternity.  Everything was washed, ironed and hung.  But then I would dither - did I order them according to type, to colour or in outfits?  I laid outfits on the bed and worked out how many different combinations there were, worried about not having enough - eventually I decided that around 40 different combinations would just about see me through.   Two months on, I have bought a few new pieces and wear the same small number of outfits, just like I always did.   Oddly  enough they all fall into the 'no ironing, drab colours, could also walk the dog or paint the house in them' category, but for the first month I was quite smart and well turned out.

The commute was a killer.  Our rail franchise owner are particularly crap - pretty much the Millwall FC of the rail travel world - i.e. never going to be in the top league, and permanently just above the relegation zone, or to put it less politely "they're sh*t and they know they are".  However going back after a 6 year break made it even worse.  It is still hideous now, even more so with the weather problems, but I am becoming immune to much of it.  I have my music, books, twitter, crayons, colouring books, etc. to occupy my little mind.  I treat my fellow passengers with the same indifference they treat me, i.e. don't acknowledge their existence, make no eye contact and never say anything to them other than 'excuse me'.  For about two days after the showing of the telly drama about lovers who meet on their commute, 'The 7.39', I did notice an unusual alertness amongst my fellow passengers.  There we all were, looking round the carriage, checking each other out, trying to spot someone with whom we could strike up a banal conversation which might lead to passion and mayhem.  But Southeastern are the contraception extraordinaire of the commuting world.  They have beaten every ounce of passion and pleasure in life out of us for the duration of that journey, and we soon all drifted back  to our Kindles and androids.  

Before I started work, I was convinced that returning to a working routine would help me lose weight.  I live alone.  No food gets into my fridge or cupboards unless I put it there - and still I couldn't lose weight.  However I was sure that in a large, open-plan office, where someone will always have a birthday or a milestone to celebrate or just a bad day to get over, there is always, always cake and chocolate.  The nearest team to us insist that PMO stands for 'Plenty of Meal Opportunities' and they could be right.   For the last few weeks I have made a conscious effort to avoid the cakes and chocolates, and so far I have managed it, apart from today, when I just happened to have a crunchie and a handful of pick and mix sweets, as you  do.  

An unforeseen problem in returning to work was "comfort breaks".  I was accustomed to having two loos, just for my personal use.  Now I had to share communal toilets with other people.  When I got up to go to the loo, I would worry if it was too soon since I had last been - as if anyone would be booking me in and out.  When I got there, to the frequently cleaned and generally empty set of stalls, I would worry over which one might be the cleanest.  If it was still flushing, I avoided it - which is ridiculous because surely that is a sign that at least the bowl is clean, but the thought of a loo seat still warm from someone else's butt freaked me out.  Actually emptying my bladder or bowels was not a issue for the first few weeks, the main reason for this was being that it just didn't happen.  It didn't matter how much I may have needed to go, there were other people around and I got stage fright.  What did I think was going to happen if someone heard me pee or, heaven forbid, pooh?  It's a toilet.  You have gone into the cubicle to do just that.  Hearing someone eating crisps or knitting in a toilet cubicle would fall into the category of odd, taking a pee - absolutely expected.  No matter how much I told my bladder this, it would not listen and went on strike until it was certain there was nobody within listening distance.  As for my bowels, they were completely on strike until I got home, it was school all over again.    

In amongst all this commuting, loo-avoiding, eating and 'what not to wear' I have actually done some work.  All my new colleagues were very welcoming and all seem very pleasant.   We have enough banter and camaraderie to make a pleasant, working environment.  One month into my last role, I was so unhappy I couldn't face each day, and with the role before that it took less than a week, but two months on and I am still happy at work, which is a bonus.  After all this unemployment, I would have put up with anything, so I feel very lucky that the job that came along is a good job in a pleasant environment.  Just about every day seems to be a Haribo day - what is not to like?   Even better, nobody has a put sign on the wall saying 'you don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps'.  Admittedly, I feel old enough to be just about everyone's mother, but I seem to make up for my advanced age in immaturity so that too works in my favour.      

I am not 100% settled into the world of work again.  I still struggle with my sleep pattern, but it gets better each week.  I also haven't yet mastered going out socialising after work, which was something at which I had always excelled, but that will come in time, I am sure.  I feel that I am more back on the donut gang than the chain gang but it's work and I am back.  It is very wrong, to judge anyone by what they have or what they do, but we are all our own harshest judges.   For me, having a job, being around people, earning my own money and having a purpose in life gives me self respect.