Things Left Unsaid

Things have been improving over the last few days.

Flora called, Pierro will stay with Natty in Canberra and she will go the the funeral alone, meaning I don't need to go up there. Pressure off there. It's been an incredibly emotional few days regardless. Monday was spent at home, in a mild version of shock. I wish, at times, I wasn't an emotional sponge. At least I've got ways of coping with this now - coping better than ever before. Exercise and a great support network make all the difference.

So now, with the Canberra trip abandoned I can get back to the joys of job hunting.

Yesterday's interview was at a top-flight consulting firm. For the first time in this job hunting period, I felt half excited. I felt that I'd actually like to work for this company. Not something I've been feeling for a while.

Strangely, it was one of the better interviews I've attended in years. I had no idea what to expect, but I fitted in well with the interviewer who seemed to get what I was about , just as I got where they were coming from.

It was a bit of a revelation of an interview. It also had me looking at the answers I was providing. What do information do you give? What do you leave out? What do you bury at the base of a sandpit encrusted with cat poo where you know nobody is going to go.

It was an interesting experience.

First up, I didn't look like me. Walk down the street and I was near unrecognisable. As I've lost 9 kgs this year all ready, my standby suit that I've used for interviews is now on the big side. Big enough to be swamping me and it is now sitting on the pile to be taken to St Vinnies. So the black jacket and skirt, in the wardrobe for when I got skinny again was donned. Hair in a bun, kitten heels, bespoke bracelet, red leather handbag, make up.

This is the result.

I look like Jessica Rabbit's scary accountant sister. Flora said I looked like and undertaker when she saw the photo. What Flora wasn't seeing was a really pretty cobalt blue top under the suit jacket that takes away a bit of the ferocity. Still, as most people are used to me in fisherman's pants, jeans, t-shirts or dresses, it's a bit out of the norm. As for make up - my normal eyeliner and mascara has been upped - but thank goodness for mineral foundation - it feels like you have nothing on your face.

As a rule, in interviews, you go back through you last few jobs. Rich, the guy interviewing me, wanted the full story. Oh, my.

For once, scraping around the truth wasn't going to cut it. I had to be as honest as I could.

He also started back at high school. He wanted the unadulterated story. Oh hell. Here goes nothing.

Rich: So tell me about high school.
Pand: Not what you expected. One of the worst high schools in South Australia at the time. Outer metropolitan hardnuts and country kids mixed in a school that didn't really cater for academics.
Rich: And you were dux of the school.
Pand: No, but in the top five.
Rich: With an Arts bent at high school?
Pand: No. I matriculated in English, Maths, Chemistry, French and Music. The marks were all were all in six marks of each other .

Well, this is the truth. Willunga High was not the paragon of educational virtues. There were four others who's grades were better than mine. Of a class of a a hundred only a handful went on to university. I'm also the only one in the state with a B plus in Math, Chemistry, French and Music.

Rich: What did your parents do?
Pand: Mum was a nurse, Dad ran the rubbish dump, among other things.

Truth as well. What else are you supposed to say? Can't mess with that history. Not so much educated at the University of Hard Knocks, but I've gone through life with the odd challenge. It's made me resiliant, hopeful and rather cunning. Hell, I come from a town called Myponga! That's a handicap in itself.

Rich: And what did you go into university wanting to do?
Pand: I wanted to be a French teacher.

Again, the truth. Thing is, as soon as I got to university, I hated the way they taught French. I wasn't that enamoured with university. I really had no idea what I wanted to do other than I didn't want to get married and have kids early.

Rich: And you went to London in 1991.
Pand: After university. I fell ill in my third year and repeated that final year part time. Glandular Fever wrecked me.
Rich: How did you support yourself at university?
Pand: I worked in a department store during that time, attending lectures at lunch time.

Mostly the truth. I did work in a department store, but in the sub-basement warehouse area, putting tickets on merchandise. The world's most soul-destroying job. You don't get much lower than roles in a sub-basement - the only way is up.

Rich: And you spent eight years in London. Did you have some kind of right to abode?
Pand: Yes. Grandparent entry.

Blatant lie. But who is going to check? He doesn't need to know about my furtive entry to the UK via Ireland or my six years as an alien. I paid my taxes and didn't get caught. We'll leave that alone.

Rich: And why did you return to Australia.
Pand: My grandmother was turning 100 and my sister was having a baby.

Again, truth. I left out the bit that my father had died and I felt I could come back. Employers don't need to know that bit.

We went through my more recent employment history.

Rich: And what do you do best in a role. What is your best fit job title?
Pand: Switzerland or Geek Liaison?
Rich: Explain.
Pand: Switzerland is the place you go to for refuge before getting things done. Don't ask how or why, but stuff gets done in Switzerland - a nice neutral place to go to for solace and regrouping. And Geek Liaison, because that's what I do. I can talk to geeks. I can also talk to engineers, the post room guys, the cleaners, the General Manager - you name it, I can talk to people and tend to get stuff  happening. I'm from the country. I have the charm and gormlessness to be able to do that.

Well, this is true too. I'm about as gormless as they come.

Rich: And you want to be a writer. So you want to write the great Australian novel?
Pand: Nah, I'd rather be the next JK Rowling.
Rich: Why her?
Pand: I like her imagination.

For once in my life, whether it be to my detriment or not, I got to be mainly honest. When asked why I left a job in a software company I answered, "Abject boredom. I can't sit in front of a computer all day - does my head in." Rich got told about my desire to run a marathon next year and my need for work life balance.

But for the stuff that's sitting under the cat poo in the sandpit.

The tarot cards. Prospective employers can have a look at them when they get moved into my desk drawer three months into the contract.
The fact I'm into Kabbalah, Wicca and other spiritual stuff. None of their beeswax frankly.
My reflexology practice can stay hidden for the while too. I'm not sure employers would relish somebody who plays with feet on their books. It's just a bit too strange for corporate Australia.
And yeah, they don't need to know about the three Mills and Boon Manuscripts in my bottom drawer or the fact that I was once a member of Young Labor, many, many, many moons ago.

For the moment, I'm just the well dressed, articulate, intelligent woman looking for a new role, somewhere where there are a few challenges and a lot of variety.

Part of me thinks its the stuff that I leave out which is more interesting.

I'm being recommended for a second interview. We'll see how it goes.

Pandxx

They know they can survive...

Yesterday appears to have been a dreadful day for many.

Amidst the destruction of Christchurch, I'm happy to report my friends Geetangeli and Bill are fine, their house in one piece, though they are waiting news on a couple of friends. My thoughts go out to them.
My mother rang to tell me about the visit to my aunt - the first time she'd seen her since the accident over a month ago. It was a rather distressing visit, my aunt, in her delirious state asking my mother to come and visit again before she passes over. My mother is a lot like me - all tough on the outside but marshmallow within. I know it's killing her to see her like this - but what can you do other than be there for her on the other end of the phone?

Then Georgie let it be known her father and brother were in a car accident - her brother walking away while her Dad was in intensive care, slowly recouperating but still in an awful state. Thankfully, he should recover fully and the news is getting better, but it's still dreadful.

Then the cherry on the cake - a friend had her heart broken properly for the very first time. A complete nightmare to watch as she slowly imploded after an awful day.

But what can you do but be there and listen? And think about what you've learned.

Maybe I'm getting better at having my heart broken. Maybe I'm just older and wiser and know how to bounce back better. Or maybe I know how to protect myself now, seeing the danger signs before the real heartache sets in.

Watching my friend, I had a think. Just how many times had I had my heart broken properly? Not a necessary parting of company or a moving on - the real feeling of heartbreak, where it feels like you've had your insides removed with a rusty spoon and you cry for days. The type of heartbreak that no amount of ice cream, chocolate or wine can fix.

The type of heartbreak that changes your life.

I think I scored a four. Four times I've had my feelings stomped on to such a degree that I've been put out of action for a day or so. After that it gets a bit easier - then it's just the dealing with the aftermath of what has happened - and that's when the fun really starts.

These breakups come with a theme song. Something that was playing on the radio at the time that will always remind you of the break up and how you bounced back. Stupid thing is that these songs will always be among your favorites. The songs that for some reason will bouy you when nothing else will.

The other thing I've learned about heartbreak - it's one of the best ways to learn a lesson quickly and well. It shakes things up to a point that  you know things can't continue.

So, of these incidents, let me see.

The first one is always the worst - as you have no idea what you're doing.Thank goodness first love only goes away once.

So, it's 1985, Careless Whisper is on the radio (joy, music to slit your wrist by if there ever was a song) though the theme song for this break up is Reckless, by Australian Crawl - still one of my favorite ever songs. Strange - something you associate with so much hurt is something you love so much. I suppose I remember the good with the bad. Tooling around the Fleurieu in his yellow Datsun 180B, his trying to teach me BASIC, lots of firsts, lots of normality.

The lad - Spotty Youth. Computer Nerd. Off in Adelaide working his first job. I was still back at Myponga completing matriculation. He dumped me at a party. He no longer wanted to see me any more. All I remember is taking to my bed for three days, mostly crying and talking to the dog in that time. I had no comprehension of what was going on. What had I done wrong? Why didn't he love me?

Sixteen-year-old me had no idea how to cope with all this. I didn't have friends to talk to about it. My parents were busy living out there own marital hell at the time - couldn't turn there. It was awful - and it took about two years to finally get him out of my system completely. Which is a pity. These days I'd be back in the saddle in a few weeks.

Break-up two was more a revelation.

The lad - Pretty but distant South African. Location - London. Theme song Feels Like Teen Spirit .

Looking back, twenty four-year-old me had the emotional maturity of a labrador puppy. Ready to love anything for any reason. If I was to meet the South African now he's probably be written off as an arrogant pretty-boy with delusions of grandeur. We'd been pen friends for years before we hooked up in London. Me coming to terms with everything, he apparently had the world in his hands. Wrong person, wrong time. We lived together for three months and at the end of this, he kicked me out - giving me a month to leave.

Remember crying for days - in between looking for houses in the Willesden Green area. I was out in a fortnight and life started to get better - a lot better. Stupidly, South African and I kept seeing each other on the sly for another two years - again, a bad move, but looking back, having him out of my life on a day to day basis was good. I found my feet. I found new friends. I got better temp jobs. And things moved.

Feels Like Teen Spirit always gives me a sense of freedom. It's my current ringtone. It reminds me that no matter how much crap gets dished out, I'm better than it all.

The South African was out of the system far more quickly. I learned to move on. I learned to heal. Took up a massage course. Took up an acting course. Life got better.

There's a  favorite quote of mine from a rather dreadful movie that came out about that time. "Damaged people can be dangerous.... they know they can survive." I'm not sure I'm dangerous, but I know I'm not to be underestimated. It's times like this, when heartbroken, on shaky ground, up against the odds, that the best in me comes out. I have to remind myself of this.

Break up three happened four years ago. More a minor blip on the radar, but it still hurt. I'm sure, to this day, it was the universe saying, "What are you doing with that cretin!" It really wasn't a good match. He was depressed, angry, disillusioned by society and a complete noddy - though a noddy who was affectionate and rather good in the sack.  Hmmm. I thank the universe to this day that he went back to his morbidly obese ex (one of the reasons he dumped me was because I was too skinny.)

Glory Box reminds me of him. I have to thank him for letting me go. My self-esteem blossomed after he went. You have to look for the good after all.

And the last time - two years ago. Caught me by surprise. Never felt love at first sight before. Not sure I want to go through that again. Not strong enough to fight the joys of unrequited love, the whole situation hurt like hell. Time and motion took away the pain.

The tune that goes along with this is Jeff Beck's Brush with the Blues. There is something about a wailing guitar and a snare drum that fits the situation. It goes with the memories. Somewhat bittersweet and somewhat joyous. A strange tune  - very unlike my normal musical tastes. But I still love it, even if it's referred to as Track Six.

From all of this, I get that it's the moving on that makes you strong.

As a new friend of mine calls her blog, fall down seven times, get up eight.

It's not really how you handle the initial pain.

It's all in how you come out of it.

The Three of Swords

I only ever go to have a professional tarot reading when the voice inside tells me to. This only happens once or twice a year at most, when I trot off to Vivienne for a reading. Vivienne used to run the tarot guild. She's one of the best readers in Australia if not the world. She's also one of the more direct, tarot readers around. Another friend who sees her for readings calls a session with her "ripping you a new arsehole." Maybe it's not quite that violent, but it certainly gives you something to think about.

Unfortunately the truth often hurts. Oh, how do I know this one.

There were a couple of reasons why I asked for the reading today. Though I'm pleased with my time off, I was looking for some clarity around the work situation. Also, with all of the changes that have been happening, I want a bit of clarity on a few things. Friends have come, friends have gone, jobs have gone, opportunities are coming. Things are in a bit of a spin.

I've also been drawing the devil card a bit of late. When it come up often it's a sign to talk it out. The Devil is about looking fear in the face. Only I can't quite see what I'm scared of.

There was also another issue that raised it's head during the week which I needed to see a way through. The pain was raising its head again. It was time to address it once more - and not let if fester.

The pain, you ask. Yeah, I call it the pain. It comes when somebody touches a nerve and you don't quite know what to do with that pain. In this case, it was stirred up after reading a friend's blog.

My friend, Aim, is one of the most remarkable people I know. Her blog detailed her history, right through her childhood, through a miserable adolescence, into adult hood. Three years ago, Aim screamed  "Enough!" and started on a journey - the most incredible journey, during which she has shed 75 kgs and had discovered that life can be, and is, wonderful. She's one of my inspirations. She's a wonderful spirit - wise, funny, knowledgeable and brave.  I feel honoured to call her a friend.

Aim's story rang far too many bells with me. In her journey, she's also been addressing the hurt, shame  and pain that were a constant factor in her life. Everything she was saying I could relate to. I know that my story isn't as extreme, but I saw myself in her words.

And then came the 'aha' moment for me. What's going wrong with me in within?  Go back and chat to Viv.

What was stirring in me was old pain. Childhood pain. Teenage pain. The stuff that's been hanging around for what seems like eternity. The stuff that if you don't deal with it comes and bites you in the bum until you either knock it on the head, or die. Three of Swords stuff.

If Aim can look at her demons, so can I.

(Big breath in, big breath out)

So after this morning's massage client I take myself off to Viv. The normal pleasantries. The normal chat about the cat and the computer. The normal preambles. And then the killer.

"The universe has made it apparent that you are supposed to get out there and do this right now."
"Aha." I wanted to say "No shit, Sherlock," but I'm a little less crass than that.
"Everything is going to hinge on the decisions you make next."
"Aha."
"And you don't trust yourself because you've messed up in the past."
I butt in here, "But I'm doing a better job of things lately."
"I didn't say you weren't. But you need to trust every instinct you have from now on."
"Okay. I hear you."

I knew this. Sometimes you need somebody to spell it out for you.

We did a few more rounds. Seems my idea of going contracting is sound - but I know this. I'm happier when things are changing and I get to meet new people and do new things. I should also get a plan together, looking into setting up my own business - but doing what I asked.

And then, the obligatory relationship question. Has to be done. I'm just like everybody else when it comes to this question - what's doing with the lovelife? Everybody asks it. Up comes the Three of Swords. Old pain.

"Well, you're broken. You got broke."
"No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think I sit in that dream group?"
"So you can see that you're not that badly off."
"Indeed."
"You're just as broken as the rest of the world. You just have to find a different way out of it."
"Hmm."
"It's time to start trusting yourself."
"Aha." I'm tearing up by now.
"You don't know what love is and it scares the shit out of you."
"Aha."
"So what are you going to do about it?"

I consider this for a while. I know she's right. I know I'm a bit broken in some ways. I know I've healed in others. But after all the work, the therapy, the courses and the tarot and navel gazing, I'm still broken, and I certainly don't trust myself in these situations - anything to do with relationships - I buckle and run.

"Well, I'm going to try and fix it. It's the elephant in the room." I say with resolve.
"The elephant in the room?" asked Viv.
"Yeah, the one in the corner you know you have to eat. And how are you going to do it - one bite at a time."

I might have to get myself another star calendar. I have one going for diet and exercise going. Each day I keep within my calories and take at least a half hour walk, a star goes up on the calendar. They use it for toilet training kids, why not use it as a reward system for keeping my health and wellbeing on track.

If only I could work out what I would get a star on the calender for on the other problem. You can't count calories and exercise sessions when it comes to matters of the heart.

Leaving Viv's place, I was a bit unsettled. Lots to digest. Lots to think about.

I'll do double job hunting tomorrow. Today I just need to let myself think and heal. And get to the gym, where I know I work some of this pain out and gather more self-respect with every push, row, step and pull.

One day at a time.

One step at a time.

(Big breath in, big breath out)

Looking fear directly in the face.

Pandxx