I haven’t written for a while because, quite frankly, there has been nothing to say. When you are unemployed, even for a relatively short time as I am (short being the amount of days, not the soul crushing hours of tedium not to mention the depressing art form that is watching every single penny you spend, lest you starve the following week) you become insular and feel that you are not part of the world (as you’re not – politicians don’t refer to ”the people” here or even ”the electorate” but ”tax payers” which I am not, through no fault of my own, therefore I must have no value as a citizen with a vote – another blog and another rant for another day I feel). So being insular and not a tax payer, you begin to go a little crazy, and lose the power of sentence making and general purposefulness.
Two observations from last week though (which did include catching up with my wonderful bro in law, back from many months of travelling and eating Babybro’s shepherd’s pie with him, Sisinlaw, Sisinlaw2 and N). Firstly, I thought I would cheer myself up and splash out on an inexpensive toner and daily moisturiser. My Clinique days firmly over, I chose brands I knew from my youth that didn’t cost more than five euro. I spent the evening giving myself a good cleansing, toning and moisturising and feeling better and brighter until the following morning, when I awoke red faced and extremely itchy, especially, inexpicably, around the eyebrow region. My face looked as if a tiny monster had taken big lumps out of it, and then laughed at it. The itching was incredible, and silly looking, as I was tearing at my eyebrows. I was more upset that I had wasted ten euro than anything else, but luckily, Mammy had anti-histamine tablets in her amazing medical box of tricks, and after two days, facial muscles returned to normal, and the eyebrows could relax. Not before Lilsister had a chance to see my face, and as I accompanied her to yet another interview (new company the previous one with TWO INTERVIEWS not even having the MANNERS to call her and tell her to fuck off, nor send a letter) as a day out, many unsuspecting members of the public saw me too, and cowered as I thundered round Baggot Street trying to find the Siberian winds to cool my face.
Secondly and finally, as I never go anywhere, at the shepherd’s pie event at Babybro’s place, I undertook to borrow six DVDs from his vast collection which is disturbingly (for him) in alphabetical order. I picked my films and then had to hand them back to Babybro, so he could write them out in a little notebook he magically produced from under the sofa. I’m not sure if I was given a return date but I do believe should they not be given back, I will be heavily fined. I think this makes Babybro look quite mad, and I was the one trying to bite my own eyebrows off at the time.
Which brings us to today, sign on day at the dole office. A futile exercise whereby all the unemployed people stand in a line, sometime for hours, to stick their X on a piece of paper, only to return the following month to do it all again. Amazingly, Lilsister and I have the same sign on day, making it for a proper family day out. So I am off to meditation class shortly, which helps me not want to stab the world, and then I shall be collected from my circle of calm and brought to sign on my Lilsister, then we can go to a separate building and collect our dole payment, and cry about how different our lives our since the Depression hit Ireland. On the plus side, it might be four degrees outside, but the sun is actually shining, and I think it’s trying to tell us something. So onwards we will plod. Adieu!