Good

I got a letter this morning inviting me for an interview for the Manchester job. I'm going to call it that since, if I got it, I'd be in that city a lot and no doubt want to write about it here. What I won't be saying any more about (for reasons well known to most of you) is the job itself. Despite keeping The Phoenix unlisted and unGooglable, I shall continue to be very very cautious about work-related blogging. Lessons learned and all that. The interview isn't for a while, so time to prepare, get nervous, get over nerves, prepare again, get nervous again etc etc.

I've also heard that I am to receive JobSeeker's Allowance at a princely £65.45 per week, until I get a job or the beginning of November, whichever comes first!

Off to meet the poets this afternoon, with not one but two poems in my bag. Joy.

Prayers

for Lucy and rr

On our knees every morning on the parquet,
lines and grooves pressed into flesh
as we held our hands dutifully together
beneath our noses, and recited the Lord's Prayer
give us this day our daily bread...
and forgive us our trespasses.

I looked at the bottle green back of the girl in front,
at the drawing pin embedded in the sole
of her Start-Rite sandal, and longed for objects -
platform shoes, LED watch,
denim skirt, cigarettes - that would ease the craving,
that would ensure membership.

New Battery

My watch has stopped at 9.37. I am uncertain of the significance of this, other than that I will have to go into town and buy a new battery from the jeweller's with the Eastern European name. They usually ask me to go away and come back, giving them time to fiddle about with it, so I will go and buy tofu from the wholefood shop for our dinner. I dreamed repeatedly last night of the wholefood shop where I worked in my mid-twenties. I was telling others who worked there that D, the owner, was ok really, once you got used to his controlling ways...

I have spent much of the morning researching and purchasing car insurance. A relief to have concluded the process (though I just got a call from one of the comparison websites, eager to muscle in). L is mowing the lawn with our new push-mower, which whirrs agreeably in the background. Later we'll go down to the allotment and see how the potatoes, garlic and onions are doing. And the weeds... It rained yesterday at last but only a kind of murky drizzle, so I expect the ground will still be dry and watering will be required again.

The trip South was a big mixture. The best bit was being in SW London in glorious weather, and spending time with old friends in old haunts. Actually the very best bit was that the going away and coming home again has somehow allowed me to shift from the stuck, miserable place where I was, has opened a little window and let in an enlivening breeze to blow away the stale air. Or something. I don't know the best metaphor, but I know I feel much better, more purposeful, more excited, more optimistic, and am writing poetry again... It may have been one of those 'rock bottom' experiences. In bed at my mother's on Sunday night I felt utterly hopeless, frustrated, full of self-loathing and angry, and began to talk to L about it, and this somehow was the turning point, or the moment I felt the turn begin.

More soon, but now I must away to my notebook!

When Will It Rain?

The dry dry earth. I scoop water from the depths of the butt to give the emerging potatoes a drink. The sky broods but not a drop falls. The forecast is hot and dry for the weekend. A bird in the garden investigating the new fat ball L has hung there. I have been round the house and watered and fed the indoor plants - all 16 of them. A weak feed - a half of a tiny scoop of blue crystals. The car is dusty. I have to squirt screenwash and set the wipers in motion each time I drive.

Heading South tomorrow for even drier climes. To make meatballs for my Mum, and take her white lillies, and reassure her as best I can. To visit my sister who has a garden designer coming on Friday. Whose garden as I recall was entirely paved last time I saw it. To have lunch, and cups of tea, and conversations about employment, unemployment, my nephew and niece and the state of the coalition. Then over to SW London our old stomping ground, to meet L again, and hang out in our old local park (no doubt dry) with the 600 year old black walnut tree, til it's time to go and have dinner with friends. The next day to Kew Gardens - to visit amongst other old friends the Lucombe Oak, another venerable tree. I lean back into its mighty trunk and feel held, fed, supported. The ground beneath my feet will be dry as dust. That evening the 18th birthday party, in a cafe in beautiful gardens near the river. The next morning back over to my mother's to join her for Sunday roast lunch in the restaurant at her retirement village. Then there'll be some tennis - the first day of the French Open - played on that dusty red clay in Paris. My mother and I will watch while L reads, or snoozes. My mother will snooze. I will do the sudoku from her Times. On Monday morning we'll head for home, where rain is forecast.

Flat

I drove the 33 miles to the other project, where they were keen to offer me a job. It took an hour and 20 minutes, without any traffic congestion whatsoever. At any time I'd be likely to travel, even if I left home super-early, there'd be some, if not a lot, so it could take anything up to 2 hours, I imagine. And the job also then involved travelling around the large town, to work with kids in a number of different schools. Primarily for these reasons, and for a couple of others, I am going to decline the offer. This leaves me feeling tired and deflated, but, in a sense relieved - all the way home I was thinking as I drove 'thank God I'm not going to be doing this 3 times a week'...

Unemployment continues. I sent off my application to the young people's project yesterday - closing date next Wednesday, so now the lull before I start waiting to hear something...

We're off down South on Thursday, to visit my Mum, and friends, and go to the 18th birthday party of the daughter of friends... whom I looked after three days a week when she was between 4 and 8 months old. Well, how did that happen?

Out Of Puff

Feeling a bit out of puff for this, but just wanted to let you know there have been some interesting developments on the jobs front. When I was turned down for the recent job, I was told that another branch of the organisation had a similar position coming up, and that my name would be put forward. I didn't know how far this would go, didn't hope for too much. On Monday, however, I had a call from the manager of this other branch (33 miles away!!), saying how impressed she was with my application, how happy they'd be to take the other project's assessment of me as 'appointable'. The details are not yet clear but I'm going there on Tuesday to meet manager and team, and find out more. It would probably only be a temporary contract until March, after which I'd have to reapply for my own job... Driving over there will also be a chance to find out just how long this journey will take. Scenic most of the way, but no fast roads. Nicer but slower than a motorway trip.

Meanwhile I have been to an open morning at another project that has a counsellor/therapist job going. A very well-established young people's project with much to recommend it, including secure funding (or as secure as any funding is in this climate) and the provision of proper clinical supervision. Also a more manageable journey. 40 minutes on the train, a short walk... So I'm up to my eyes in another application! And then have to figure out how to keep both options open. I'm not good at subterfuge, so working plan is just to be upfront with the first lot about the second job application. Not sure if that's risky, but I'd really rather the second job if I had a choice, for all the above reasons, and the fact it's in a city of which I am inordinately fond.

Last night I went with my friend A to the pictures to be distracted. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo certainly didn't disappoint. 150 plus minutes passed without a moment of boredom, though my legs were tired by the end. It's grim and shocking in places, but the central female protagonist is excitingly enigmatic and feisty, with a touch of comic-book woven in without losing touch with a thread of psychological and social realism. A thoroughly thrilling thriller - not my usual preferred genre. I won't recommend it because many (like L) will not wish to stomach the scenes of violence and perversion, and at moments I quailed and my guts churned, but I was glad I hung in there. The film has a kind of super-hero energy that wrongs can be righted, however messily or morally dubiously, that the disempowered and psychologically damaged need not be victims forever, that the sadists and rapists get their come-uppance in the end. Phew! Now I really am out of puff. Wasn't planning a review, but had to tell you... Jean's review in March was much fuller and more articulate.

Wall

The top row of stones
runs uphill like a string of beads,
cool and heavy, laid along the wall.
I can almost see holes
in their middles,
a thread running through,
almost hear the thick stony clatter
as the giantess of the hill
lifts them up from where they rest,
adorns her mighty green breast.

Germinate

A severed rhubarb flower on a willow pattern plate on the table near where I sit. One book said not to let the flowers grow, then another L found later said you could enjoy letting the flower bloom, creamy white, before cutting it off. This tight bud seems a reproach now. Smells of young sweet rhubarb. The most memorable thing my first therapist ever did, was to show me a courgette seedling on her windowsill, the seed case still stuck to the burgeoning, contorting shoot like a clamp. She told me it reminded her of me, or I reminded her of it, not sure which way she put it. You should know that it was gently, kindly expressed, and resonated deeply with the work we were doing at the time, probably 20 years ago now... In similar vein, K the astrologer tells me my Mars-Saturn opposition gives rise to an effect she describes as 'driving with the brakes on'.

I met J this morning, and we drew to a close the chapter of my working for her business. I went to the office to leave some stuff, pick up some money (not much money), give back my key, and say my goodbyes. Everyone was sweet and gentle and concerned about me not getting the job last week, and J gave me the warmest of hugs at the door. I know it's right but it seems to have brought back the feelings of being 'out' and 'on my own' from November... The light today doesn't help - unspeakably bleak, dark and heavy at moments as if about to rain, then lightening just a little, but always brooding, dim, though never actually raining, which might perhaps give some relief. It's like the set lighting for a play about loss and loneliness and existential angst of all kinds.

All I want to do is go forwards. All I want to do is go backwards. All I want is to look after myself. All I want is to be looked after.

Somewhere

The sharp piece of grit inside my thick sock
prints a tiny indentation in my foot
at every step. I stop and tap my toe
on the peat-dark path, try to shift
the grit along my sole, succeed but
feel it still each time I put my boot down,
less sharply now, somewhere on the skin
of my high arch, as foot meets grit,
sock boot, boot earth
as my body weight bears down.

Bubbles

Tiredness sits on me like a huge squishy cushion with someone sitting on it. Actually, we managed a brief walk to the spot between the holly and the hawthorn where we had a our handfasting ritual two years ago, and sat on my mac, listening to the birds, during a short-lived almost sunny spell, between hail and rain showers. When the sun goes and the precipitation comes, it's cold. Later we shall open a bottle of champagne - the real McCoy - Mumm - given to us in honour of our new house by my brother, and saved for the right occasion. Maybe being this exhausted isn't ideal, but our second wedding anniversary seems worthy of bubbles.

I am not sure why I am quite so tired. It was good to see K, and we talked a lot, ate, drank (possibly too much...) and went singing, but having anyone here to stay always seems to take a lot of energy, and I had not even begun to process not getting the job when she arrived. I think I need quiet and solitude and rest in the next few days, and am determined to start spending more time writing. After all this enforced leisure can't last. I'll kick myself if I haven't made the most of it. So a new regime is required, some self-discipline, a plan. I feel all kinds of ideas bubbling beneath the surface, just need to give them the time and space to make it onto paper where I can see them, play with them, craft them...