Tired

Life has fallen into a bit of a rut recently, and I’m tired.

I’m in Birmingham still, still at home with my parents, still unemployed and looking for work. Still broke.

Each day I drift into conciousness, drag myself out of bed, drink tons of coffee and try to motivate myself to apply for work. Look at the RSS feeds, see what’s advertised. Try and select what looks possible from the impossible and the improbable. Fire off CV’s (that’s Résumé’s for you in the states), fill out applications forms. Send them off, hear nothing back.

Three of the beautiful people I had the privilege of visiting at the Manor House

Three of the beautiful people I had the privilege of visiting at the Manor House (Photo credit: Kari Rosenfeld)

That’s the pattern, with very few interruptions. I’ve become a tortoise, retreated into my shell, only coming out to do what I need to do, then escaping away again, into bad TV, trashy movies and Wimbledon. I know few people here, and I’ve made no effort to see them. All my limited energy is focused on what I need to do to get onto the next step. A step that never comes.

Still, there are some things to take delight in. The sunshine. My parents garden, a genuine oasis in the city. Letters, CD’s, emails and skype calls from dear friends across the water. A trip down to the manor a couple of weeks ago; a friends wedding in Norfolk this last weekend. Phone calls to good friends. All these things are good, refreshing; but the day-by-day remains the same, monotonous, insular slog – and thus far there seems to be little to show movement on the horizon; little hope of change.

Change will come. There will be a job, and income, and a roof over my head of my own choosing. Eventually. But in the meantime, I’m tired.

One day at a time, huh?

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