I didn't get to post yesterday, I don't think that's a crime in blogland is it? I'm a virgin at this, just rambling and rambling away.
I had a 'lone-parent' interview at the job center yesterday. It was supposed to be last Thursday, but I had to rearrange and point out to them that the time they gave me clashed with the collecting from school time. Maybe I think too much of people, but I'd have presumed a 'lone-parent interview' would have been made during school time. The advisor argued it was during school time, but totally missed the point. The point being that just before school ends isn't really during school time. Anyway, my hopes weren't high when he called to rearrange. He asked if I'd ever had one before to which I replied I hadn't. He said that it was just something the government made them do, we had to had to look at my options as a single parent. He then kindly added that I probably didn't really have any.
So, off I trot to the job center to sit with the professional benefit people. You know the ones, they've been on benefits for years, you can tell because they only wear expensive clothes. They usually have a couple of young kids with them dressed as mini-mes and covered in sticky remnants of sweets (breakfast).
The advisor turned out to be a fairly decent and down to earth bloke. Like most people I speak to in benefits, once they realise I have qualifications, want to work and hate claiming they stop talking to me in the patronising tone they usually adopt. The problem then is that they simply begin to complain about how crap the benefit system is and how it really doesn't help people like me. Fills me with such hope it does!
I told him about my plans to return to University and take over where I left off before I left the arsehole and moved a million miles away. "Ah well" He said, "If you have plans I'm going to leave you alone to just get on with it. We don't often meet people with plans." It took a good few minutes to make him understand that I would really like to work in the meantime. He argued stating I'd probably be no better off, to which I argued that I really, really don't care. As long as I'm not worse off. There are only so many times a day a toilet can be cleaned, I can't stand being shut up in the house much longer. I don't want to work for the money, I want to work for the social side of it, for something to get up for in the morning, I want some pride. I want to buy something for the house and know it's truly mine, because I earned the money that paid for it.
Shocked, he agreed to look for a job for me. There were a couple, but on taking the details away the story is the same as it's always been. They're completely unsuitable. I have another interview in a fortnight so he can find me some more jobs I can't do, something to look forward to I suppose.
Well, I managed to watch Lost. I got my bottle of wine, lay stretched out on the sofa and relaxed - wonderful! The problem was that they put Flatliners on afterwards and I've not seen that film in years. Brilliant film, so I stayed up to watch it. Consequently, today I am shattered. I have that horrible muzzy head feeling and my eyes are heavy. I can't be bothered to do anything. I have to force myself awake soon. 2nd son has done his usual and left his swimming kit at home. This is a weekly occurence.
Mind you, he's getting better. Rather than the school calling and asking me to drop it in, he remembered it when he got to the school gates. At this rate it means that by time he's about 42 he'll remember it before he leaves the house in the morning.
Madam is doing well with her arm. In fact, she's doing too well. Little Miss Independent refuses to acknowledge she may not be able to do the things she could do if she didn't have her arm in a cast. She told me she found it hard to get up from the carpet at school because she can't push up on her wrist. I suggested she ask the teacher if she can sit on a chair. It turns out the teacher made that suggestion herself, Madam refused point blank and would rather struggle. She's having trouble cutting up her food, but will not allow anyone to do it for her, preferring to struggle and hurt instead. She fell over yesterday at school, managing to cut her arm just above the plaster. This is because she has refused to sit nicely and read books during playtime, nooo, she wants to run around and carry on as normal.
It all made me wonder about if it had been one of the boys. I can say in certainty that they would be demanding to be nursed. They'd insist they couldn't do PE, have to stay in at break, need food cutting up, couldn't possibly help themselves to a drink and so on.
Kids, they're adults in training.
