I’m Everywhere I’m Everywhere [in the USA]

HowManyOfMe.com
Logo There are
207
people with the name Kay Walker in the U.S.A.

How many have your name?

Since I’m Australian, the proportion would work out that there are probably 14 or 15 of us over here!

When I was on Facebook I had 7 Friends named Kay Walker. We used to wish each other Happy Birthday & Merry Christmas. I am keenly following the education and career of one of us who is a college student at a place oddly named [to me] Quinnipiac University & has a small photography business. My regular readers will know I’m also a keen photographer.

Kay Walkers of the world

Kay Walkers of the world

On Google Plus I have a Circle titled Kay Walkers of the World with 6 members so far! At one stage when I was a health researcher and publishing regularly, I discovered two other Kay Walkers in academia, both of whom were also in health: one in nursing research and the other in allergy. I know of three MALE Kay Walkers, but none have joined me on any of the social media sites. Where are you, guys?

While I was researching some health conditions in Australia, a person with my name presented themselves for an assessment interview, so Kay Walker interviewed Kay Walker. Another coincidence was when I was registering for the local artists’ festival [SALA] as a glass artist and discovered I had already registered as a print artist! That was a bit scary!

Cat by printmaker Kay Walker

The Cat Bed by printmaker Kay Walker

Lastly, there is also a TV director/producer in Australia with my name which explained a very strange incident where I was sent an urgent message to please contact someone on a TV show team in Sydney NSW. When I rang the number they were very puzzled to hear I was a health researcher from Adelaide, not the prospective producer they wanted to employ!!

 

Has anyone else had such amusing or alarming experiences with name-doubles?

By the way, although there are so many Kay Walkers, I have absolutely no problem with identity confusion! I know who I am. Who are those others??

Obviously lots of us die all the time, eg. there were at least ten pages of obituaries at http://www.iannounce.co.uk/United-Kingdom/23/Obituary/obit?_fstatus=search&keywords=Kay%20WALKER

We're dying everywhere!

We’re dying everywhere!

But I couldn’t find any new birth announcements- I think Kay is a little passe!

 

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Disaster – OMG!

Yep- that “little” thing that sends the whole day to hell, is one of my most destructive habits! My therapist & I call this “disaster-ising” and I really have to keep trying hard to stamp it out. [Does anyone else remember the “father” of Cognitive Therapy, Albert Ellis, whose Rational Emotive Therapy talked about disasterizing and awfulization?]

Dr Albert Ellis

Something ALWAYS seems to happen when I’m doing a trivial or loathed task that “puts me off” for the rest of the day. It’s often when I’m getting our breakfast things out of the dishwasher- a glass that’s been leaning on a cup crashes down on its side, breaking. My automatic thought is “Oh no- that’s terrible- the whole day is going on bypass while I deal with this unthinkable occurrence!”

I KNOW why I do this also- but 55 years of fearing the same thing is A BIT MUCH!! I still react as I did as a kid when, if anything I was near, broke or was dropped, I’d get yelled at- “naughty, bad, WHY?, smack, shout, smack” from my father. Mum would HIDE broken stuff from him when he wasn’t there- he was just irrational- obviously doing his own disaster-ising. However, the emotional wreckage & humiliation persisted and when I’m in a down phase, it leaps out & gets me.

All I can do is “self-talk” and maybe play a silly video like Eddie Izard’s “DeathStar Canteen”. Most times currently I might be able to do a few mundane things after a breakage, but it still stops me from doing pleasurable stuff, like hobbies. I just try to carry on regardless, thinking “Accidents will happen- the world is a chaotic place- get on with the day”.

Thanks for the reminder post, Natasha!

This post was inspired by Natasha Tracy’s blog post Emotional OverReactions – Depression.

Touch of the Henries

[This post is also Day1 for NaBloPoMo]
No this is not about unwanted sexual touching in the workplace. Nor is it about the Annual Henry Mancini Musical Theatre Awards; nor the greeting card industry’s awards; nor even the standard unit of electrical inductance! It’s about motivation.

Large dose of the Henries

*”A touch of the Henries” = ennui. Haven’t you ever heard that feeling described this way?

IRL this means I can think of millions of things I could be doing but I can’t be f**ked. It’s not to be confused with procrastination, as I know why I do that! This is an awkward feeling of being motivated in one part of the brain and disinclined in another. I guess it relates to procrastination, but it’s a feeling of general hopelessness rather than some fear of failure that stops the action from happening.

Surrounding me here on the sofa are stacks of little projects I could attack, and others that need completing, but somehow none really appeals most of the time.

Pile of crafty stuff

My stickability at really simple routines and habits makes me take my pills every morning; my hatred of pinging sensations in my head soon reminds me if I miss! Guilt about putting off various tasks because I can’t commit my whole head to them makes me think about re-starting. But then I remember that half a head’s commitment will not get those tasks finished with any sort of quality, so I put those aside fairly legitimately.

The boring, routine things like housework are the most easily put aside as rarely does anyone die from my neglect of this! I’ve seen houses where there WAS a risk of the owner dying (like the one with the blind 83 year-old who had to negotiate a backyard obstructed with huge vines and tree-roots to go to the toilet), but I manage to wash the basic utensils and kitchen bench so we don’t get food poisoning! Vacuuming, mopping, tidying, changing quilt covers and window-cleaning are the things I let slide.

I Tweeted a minor victory today because I put Spotrick’s black T-shirts through the wash for the week, he mopped the [yesterday flooded] laundry & I followed up with the bathroom floor. This is a good day!

Righto- I wonder what I’ll attack tomorrow; any bets? I could sew a skirt, plant out some seedlings, de-pot tulip bulbs or a dozen other things. I’ll see what I feel like tomorrow. Fingers crossed!

For the psychologically and/or philosophically inclined [which I am when not suffering an attack of the Henries], here is a diagram by Csikszentmihalyi showing how ennui (which, to me, is halfway between Apathy and Boredom), fits into the spectrum of emotions:

Spectrum of emotions

Diagram of the Henries plus other emotions

Try Wikipedia for starters, or go to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s separate entry to track down his writings.

*For the unenlightened, my own use of the term “henries” is derived from the works of one John Clarke, a local writer/philosopher/comedian.

Anti-stress resolution (or deadly boring but important to avoid the blues)

Boinngg!!! It hit me while I was hanging the washing! No not a dead bird…it was the flash of blinding insight that IT DOESN’T MATTER IF THERE IS WHITE FLUFF ON BLACK CLOTHES! Furthermore, if people choose to judge others and what they say solely on the evidence of white fluff on black clothes- then those people’s opinions are not worth SHIT!

There- I’ve certainly lived a lot of years before being illuminated in this regard, but it’s better than never at all!

For.. well, forever- I have always turned my black clothes right side out before washing because I didn’t like the effect of the white fluff and also because others sometimes remarked on it, or tried to brush it off me. Also, since Spotrick and I have lived together he has sometimes expressed annoyance at the white fluff on his black T-shirts (which he wears to work now) and I have responded. For years I have been quite depressed and unable to get out from under and every time I started the washing I would either get Spotrick to turn his shirts the right way out or I would do it (more often…), thinking how awful this was and how it made tears come to my eyes.

Pegs on the line

Peg art

But I DID DO IT most of the time, in spite of the struggle it caused in me- I sacrificed my own mood to those bloody fluff-botherers!! Grr… Why didn’t I see the error of my ways earlier? Who knows- I’ve changed now.

So- anyone who knows me in my true hooman form, please don’t respond to either Spotrick or to me on the basis of our fluff-load- respond to what we say and what we do! We are far from fluffyheaded!

So there world- take care of your own neuroses because one of mine IS NO MORE!!

VICTORY!!!

Kitteh doesn't care about white fluff!

Kitteh doesn't care about white fluff!

Dreams of beach compounds…

There was a crumbling and rusty large gravestone in my dream and a long epitaph written there, which contained phrases like:
“He saw red enamel…
He spoke of beach compounds…
..
He dreamed of Antarctica’s health…”

There was a whole lot more that I desperately tried to remember in the dream so I would remember when I woke up! This is all I can recall at the moment, but hoping there is more…

The dream was long and involved the story of a doctor and his speech and language expert wife who had three sons, one of whom was quite autistic. The dream followed them from a time when the kids were quite young and playing on a beach, riding bikes and running around the house screaming and laughing, to when the sons and wife were dead and the old doctor was old, grey-bearded and rather tottery. Somehow I was in the dream at various stages of this family’s life. I remember going for a long walk with the father and the two non-disabled sons. We were chatting about all sorts of things, including listening to the sounds our joints made quietly as we walked! The autistic son was mainly educated at home and I can’t recall the details of how he was managed on the days when both his parents worked. Anyway, he wore a helmet to prevent him doing too much damage to himself and ran about saying weird things, squealing and flapping. He could read a bit, made up odd stories that did not make much sense and found it impossible to ride a bike like his brothers, even though he tried for years. When he died- and I think the epitaph may have been for him- there was a reporter from a large newspaper at the family home to do a story on him. While they were discussing what should go in the story, the doctor brought out some old films and videos of things happening with the autistic boy.
The doctor and his wife also put the helmet on and imitated some of the antics the boy went through- they were hilarious! There were some crazy things on the films and videos that had the journalist cacking himself!
I could see the house as a whole in its setting at the end, with some small industrial city in the distance a few kms away. The house was a modern, multi-roofed house on a small hill overlooking the city. The grave with the epitaph was in a field next to the house covered in golden dry grass.
I remember speaking with the doctor on the occasion of his farewell dinner from the local community when he retired at 65 or so. I was talking to him about what it had been like for him to be a patient for the first time when he had suffered a small prostate cancer [this must be related to one of my former jobs where I did interview several older doctors who had recovered from it]. He was philosophical and explained he’d been a bit embarrassed, hadn’t approved of some of the things that had happened to him, but decided he had been treated OK overall and wasn’t complaining!
There was a bit about the sons not receiving some awards from their church youth group because a crotchetty old pastor had blown some incidents with the autistic boy out of all proportion, and blamed the other two boys. [weird!!!]
The house I can see as a rambling house with plenty of yard and not much garden- it appears to be in a sepia print! I could sketch it, or find a similar photo to illustrate how it looked.
The image of the old doctor left on his own at the end, shuffling around the house with no other occupants is warm and only slightly lonely. The doctor had a grey beard, trimmed but a little longer than when he was young, and his hair was thick and white and growing over his collar. His clothes were a bit crumpled- with a broadly checked shirt and a brown cardigan! Perhaps we have the beginnings of a movie script or at least a short story here!
It’s also probably relevant that I have known many families with autistic and Asperger’s syndrome kids and have spent a lot of time in their homes- but none of them match this particular family in the dream! And none of them lived where this dream is set- in a dry part of the US interior with rolling, grassy slopes and fields of corn and wheat stalks!
Well- maybe more to this if it comes back to me, maybe not…

The house was like this with multiple roofs, but modern large windows.

The return of psychedelia

I had this amazing set of dreams last night- I’ll have to blog about it! There were millions of little fish shapes in 3D cut out of paper on pages I was trying to read, the fish cutouts swirled and curled like a printed endpaper into waves and paisley shapes- very psychedelic. If you can imagine that each little segment of the print below is a tiny paper fish, you’re on the right track!

Marbled endpaper similar to my dream imagery

Marbled endpaper similar to my dream imagery

There was also a horse trying to suck on my hair- it was in the bedroom trying to wake me up- thank goodness it didn’t have foul breath and I didn’t seem to be allergic to it in the dream, as I am IRL!

Considering all the animals around, it was just as well there was also a pile of vets who inconveniently drove away with seven children with muddy feet  in a small car.

There were an awful lot of my [deceased] Uncle Norman’s rust coloured cattle dogs; a university flat with too many people in it (including a past work colleague who was not impressed with the lack of space); some exotic flowers, like very branched grevilleas, that I put in a salad and the Queen came to inspect an ecologically sound road-building project! “They” said it was eco-friendly, but it looked like the usual pile of jagged boulders chopped off some hill and dumped in a ravine!

Maybe some of it was inspired by Evangeline’s tales of the early 70’s when she journeyed from derelict houses in the hills to Adelaide Uni to buy LSD tabs from a large bikey!
I’m having trouble making the miniature paper fish, so I may have to draw one! Mine are not much like this, but  it’s great, so I’ll insert a pic:

Won Paks Rupiah Koi

Won Pak's Rupiah Koi

I’ll put a photo of my own paper fishie when I’ve made it presentable.

Eight pointers to success

I watched the little vid by Richard St John on TED Talks. HE said I need:
Passion
Hard work– Put your nose down and work hard at it.
Practise, practise, practise.
Push (or get your mum to push you)- through shyness and self doubt.
Serve others something of value- it can be a privilege to serve.
Ideas– with lots of evidence why they’re good.
Persistence– past the CRAP: Criticism Rejection Assholes and Pressure- still persist
Focus.
OK- I’ll start with the first:
1. Passion: I have very little passion about anything any more. A few months ago, I still had some passion about photography- now I see it as something to occupy my time and give me occasional income. I can’t be bothered doing anything fancy with my photos and don’t spend much time in Picasa- just a crop and occasional brightening of colours and light. I was passionate about my glass fusing and slumping for quite a while, but lack of money to buy an array of materials to help me express myself has knocked any passion out of me. I usually have glass but nothing to make molds or vice versa; no viable shelf paper, no rods the right colour for a project etc. My passion for my work only happens when I have ongoing work to be passionate ABOUT- I only have a little editing to do for a few hours per month, so don’t get a chance to get very keen. ‘m not invoilved in any research now- so my natural passion and curiosity to discover new facts has disappeared. I have no teaching, so there is no challenge of empty students to fill up with useful knowledge. I was passionate about getting a new job a few years ago, but that died when I was fired because the boss plagiarised my work and didn’t want me around reminding her. I am not brave enough to apply for a job in my own field any more- I can’t even talk about it.
2. Hard work: when I have work I like, I work very hard and I always did. I guess if I get another job, this won’t disappear. I CAN work hard, I have the capacity- it doesn’t worry me and I don’t expect to be paid for doing a half-arsed job. I resigned from a job where I didn’t have enough to do to keep me occupied- should have stayed- the work wasn’t bad when it popped up! I still work hard on the editing when I have some to do. I work hard on my uni assignments when I have those.
3. Practise: It’s difficult for me to practise my job skills when I haven’t got a job, but I DO practise researching things for fun and sometimes for friends’ business ventures. I’d like to practise my glass slumping skills but feel restricted by lack of resources. I can’t practice data analysis as I haven’t got the software- that usually handicaps me when I go for a job interview and they slot in a timed statistics test on some software I haven’t used for years. Then I don’t make it to the rest of the interview because I make simple booboos from lack of practise. If they’d asked me HOW to do something complex, I could tell them- but I couldn’t use the exact programming words to say it. I’ve tried to practice my writing skills by contributing articles to various websites, but none have been accepted, so I’ve given up- too boring and I won’t earn anythiing. Totally sick of that- no persistence, eh?!
4. Push. He said to push through shyness and self doubt. Unfortunately my self doubt has mounted over the years and I seem incapable of pushing any longer- that’s not good- but what can I do? I’ve tried until I cried so many times it seems pointless. I’m certainly not shy in job interviews- perhaps I SHOULD be! Who knows? I used to push hard when I worked- over obstacles and lack of support and lack of a boss and lack of resources, lack of respect, lack of room etc- I was pretty good at pushing- we got a good pile of research money when I did the lions share of the applications.
5. Serve. It’s hard to serve when you haven’t got a job. I hate serving in a meaningless way- I couldn’t be a checkout chick unless someone said they’d shoot me if I didn’t put in my time! Doing a reseaarch job is not REALLY about serving. I try to find answers to problems and questions and hope that the knowledge or whatever I discover will serve some good. However, I am not a serving sort of person. That might be why I’m not a success- how can I become service-minded? At home I hate doing the housework and being of service to Spotrick who is out earning the money every day. I hate being of service to the cats by keeping their food bowls and litter box clean. I get no sense of pride or accomplishment- just relief when I do something useful and in time. I don’t feel I’m performing anything of service when I load the dishwasher or scrub the sink- I don’t like dirty things, so I try to make sure most of them get cleaned.
7. Persistence. Through criticism, rejection, assholes and pressure- still persist. This something I can lack- all my life I’ve tended to give up when something got boring. I persisted for many years trying to get a job, through criticism, rejections, asshole interviewers and my own pressure. I persisted through all my years of depression while I was working- getting up and going to work every day, working as hard as I could, even crying all through showering and breakfast and driving. I ALWAYS went, and I only cried on one day at work- the boss just kept asking me to hurry up and get the stuff right- I wasn’t allowed to stop- so I just stayed at my computer with tears running down my face all day until I finished. These days my persistence is severely dented- I don’t seem to finish many things, I don’t care about most of them and having to repeat things over again just makes me cry. I can’t tell if I would persist if I had a decent job. I had a pretty menial job auditing some data last year and I persisted from dawn till dusk doing all this boring stuff because someone was paying me $21 an hour for it. However, without a reward, I’m stuffed.
7. Ideas. I’m usually brimming with ideas, but I’ve run out of them with regard to getting another decent job. When I have a job, my ideas run free- and they’re usually not silly or irrelevant. I tend to have some useful and creative ideas about most things and like brainstorming. In fact I’m trying to start a think tank.
8. Focus. When I have a job I’m very good at focusing- I can stay on task for ages, without breaks if I must, I can thrash out written materials and statistical anaylsis until they’re limp and unresponsive! I don’t tend to get diverted onto non job topics or activities. I don’t tend to spend time gossiping or hanging around in the tearoom etc. I know what will be productive to explore in my research work and what is unlikely to be fruitful- I guess I have a sense of focus on what’s important for a task. I can also focus through distractions, noisy environments, silly co-workers and people slacking off around me. It’s not ideal, but I am good at ignoring things that might interrupt other people doing my job. However, let at home on my own with nothing very vital to occupy me, I tend to lose focus if I am unhappy- and I am unhappy a lot of the time. If I feel reasonable, I can focus on doing the housework very well in one area, but I can’t focus on a whole day’s worth of unrelenting toil.
I think it might be a good idea to keep a copy of the 8 words/concepts near me and try to concentrate on cultivating the qualities that I lack.

Giving things up

Yep- it will sound like another whinge, but I think I’ll write it down, just to get it out… I seem to have given up all sorts of little things to try to conserve money, since I’m rarely earning any, but it doesn’t seem to have had much effect on the home finances. Should I keep depriving myself, (and Spotrick for some of them), and try to concentrate on the longer term, or maybe cheer myself up a bit with some familiar treats? The trouble is, we seem to live in a level of constant, steady debt- it doesn’t get any bigger now, but it doesn’t reduce. I can’t see any way (other than winning the lottery or a secret surprise benefactor) that we can cut any more off it. On the other hand, if I reinstate the little luxuries of life, it will only put us into a few hundred dollars more debt over the year…hmm, but a few hundred is still more than zero. I’m quite obsessed with this, eh?!
Let’s see what I/we have given up. I gave up all my magazine subscriptions (I had about half a dozen, I guess)- home and garden stuff, craft things- nothing individually expensive; I’ve given up several items in the weekly grocery shopping- tonic water (that was good for the cramps caused by my tablets), potato crisps (noms- that was a hard one!), icecream, sweet biscuits (which were only occasional anyway), any sort of nuts other than South Australian almonds (because Brazil nuts and hazelnuts that I used to have for lunch, are imported and much more expensive than almonds), regular good red meat- we just have it about once a week now, spices in glass jars (we stick to the plastic packets and bulk buys), good wine (where we didn’t mind the price of a bottle up to about $40 in the bottle shop), all spirits (we haven’t bought any for years, actually- too expensive), soft drinks like Coke, frozen prepared savoury or sweet treats.
I don’t buy myself new clothes even when I really lust after something- before I would buy the occasional thing, maybe once a month. Now I don’t even look at clothing in shops any more, as it makes me feel rather sad. Even Target seems too expensive most of the time- for what you get, anyway. I suppose I buy 2 new tops for summer and 2 for winter, occasional underwear when things start falling apart. I replaced some jeans that split down the back (they had been $8 at Target 3 years before; I replaced them with $23 ones that are too fat in the bum and legs- but that’s what I get for being small!). Spotrick lives with 2 pairs of jeans- one pair for work that are new and an old pair for weekends- no other trousers except trackpants. He has a set of 5 black T shirts and 5 white ones- bought in bulk- plain Bonds ones. That’s his viable clothing! He treated himself to an Ubuntu T-shirt and fleece jacket last year, nothing else.
We haven’t got a digital set top box, although we may get a cheap one soon- we haven’t got cable/Foxtel/satellite and don’t really miss them although they might help our conversational inclusion! We don’t buy DVDs or download movies etc and we no longer buy an occasional music CD. Neither of us have iPods or MP3 players of any sort and never download iTunes etc.
We do have nice cameras for our main hobby, photography- Steve even has an SLR with a 200mm telephoto lens that he got in 2008. I bought a new larger point and shoot camera with a pay cheque I got for some research work and I’m quite happy with it.
Spotrick’s car has been pulled over by the police for too much smoke- he has to get the engine rebored or replaced, or he’ll have to get another car. It’s about 20 plus years old- he bought it for $3000 when we moved to our current house as we’d lived right in the city before. He tried the bus, but found it too crowded and he kept catching colds and flu and missing work.
My car is more than 10 years old now- it’s a tiny little Korean thing that’s already had a cracked head (welded) and hasn’t been serviced for two years- not good. I don’t use it much- only put petrol in it once every 6 weeks, but I’d rather use it than rely on the bus as I’m no good at carrying groceries and things- I’m too short and things are either too heavy and/or drag on the ground- I find it really hard to drag a trolley up bus steps- too heavy.
I have managed to avoid buying any of the textbooks for my uni course- I just borrow similar books from the library and that seems to work fine, even when they ask us to read specific chapters- I just fake it! I haven’t photocopied anything either- can get stuff as pdfs on the laptop and read them there.
We DO socialise with friends at a restaurant every Wednesday and eat and drink quite well, but our friends subsidise the bill so we never pay too much- they are fantastic! We used to have a group of us who went to the SA Theatre Company season of plays every year, but we’ve given up, so we just have dinner with them instead.
I’ve given up my aquarobics classes once or twice a week that I had been attending for 15 months- too expensive. Most people in the class got them cheap as they had private health insurance- but I can’t afford that either! (And I don’t really believe in it.)
I try not to turn the heating on during the day during winter, nor the air conditioning during summer- electricity bills are humongous! I never thought years ago that I would have to do this, but it’s necessary now- I just lie down in the summer and wait for it to cool down, or for Spotrick to come home; in winter I hop into bed with a book or the laptop and stay warm that way- a few mogs on the legs works a treat!
I don’t go for regular coffees or lunches with friends- just once a week for a quick lunch with a uni friend so I get a little social contact.
We don’t buy regular new seedlings and bulbs for the garden- I have grown the occasional batch of things from seed, but I’m too distracted/depressed to look after them mostly- we’ve got a good batch of chives and rocket currently but no spring flower seedlings. We got rid of most of the roses as they were spindly and hardly ever produced a good crop of flowers- but the yard is rather sad without colour and I’m not sure what we’ll do there. My garden used to be my pride and joy- photographs of other people’s gardens suffice now.
Anyway, it’s hard living a much more restricted life than I was used to for about 25 years. I know I have a pretty good life compared to alot of other people, but change is difficult for anyone. I feel under the thumb, I feel as though I have lost much of my independence by not having a regular income; I even feel a bit “imprisoned” and sometimes want to scream-“let me out, let me out”- but I guess it’s a psychological restriction and I can’t escape that without help …which I can’t get and can’t afford. So here I am.

A Frank Hurley Photo of Antarctica 1915


Glacier, New Fortuna Bay, 1915 / photographed by Frank Hurley by State Library of New South Wales collection.

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I was so amazed by the set of Frank Hurley’s photographs on Flickr via the State Library of NSW that I had to blog one! Most are free of copyright and shown in the Creative Commons group on Flickr.
It has been my ambition for a long while to go to Antarctica via the Falklands and South Georgia, so this photograph may spur me on. I don’t know that it will have much to do with getting me a job so I can earn the money for the fare, though!
I still can’t adapt to not having at least a part time job with some sort of continuity. I miss the intellectual challenge of work, working with other people, having people to talk to at mealtimes, producing something which might be useful to others- contributing to the world in general (well, maybe the illusion of it…). I just don’t seem to adapt- sure I’m never llonely, but I do feel under stimulated and under utilised. I’m sure I have qualities to offer which would be an asset in some workplace, but the right sort of advertisement doesn’t seem to come up. I have no more real networks in the job world as it’s ten years since I worked fulltime for one boss. I know a few people who have given me small bits of work but have no connection with anyone who might keep me in mind, as no one knows what I can do any more.
When I’ve gone for interviews, people seem surprised and then rejecting..”You wouldn’t be able to do this sort of thing these days” etc- it’s either a reference to my age or there’s something wrong with my CV or my referees are talking me down. What is it? I’ll never know.
So all I can do is dream of that Antarctic trip and try to stay on the upside of the gulch that’s opening in front of me. I think I’ll probably have no job or income to speak of for another 8 years when I reach the official pension age in Australia- and by then they’ll probably shift it on another 5 years! I don’t like this life.