|megpie71 (megpie71) wrote,|
@ 2009-07-30 11:59:00
|Current music:||"Paranoia" - Black Sabbath|
I aten't dead, part the umpteeth.
So, it's been a crap week so far. Sunday I felt suicidal, Monday was murderous, Tuesday was tired, Wednesday I was wobbly, and today I have an appointment with my Job Network Prov - whoops, sorry, they had their name changed by bureaucratic fiat recently, they're now Job Services Australia - people (same ones as before, why waste a perfectly good bunch of private enterprise bureaucrats) in another ten minutes for which I am almost certainly going to be late. This is because Himself didn't actually get out of bed until I yelled upstairs that I was heading off, and then called down "wait a sec while I have a quick shower". So I've now called them and told them I'll be late.
I'm supposed to be applying for ten jobs per fortnight, and so far this fortnight I've only found nine I'm qualified for. This means I'm one job down and not meeting the target for my jobsearch efforts, which means my payments and my efforts get scrutinised even further. Crap.
I hate missing appointments, I hate being late, and I hate not meeting targets and deadlines. So far today I'm three for three and I'm not happy about any of it.
[2 hours later]
And now I've been and gone and seen the people in Fremantle, and had a Job Search Capacity Index performed (basically, "is there any reason why we shouldn't just leave you to drown" - fortunately, I could provide at least two, namely the depression and the thyroid problems) and I'm now booked in for another interview with the nice people at Centrelink on Wednesday. So, once I'd spoken to the nice lass at PVS (at length, and in the middle of a major fit of spleen) I wandered on down to Centrelink to hand in my dole form and get my eating and walking around money for the next fortnight organised. They have a new batch of trainees in on the counters, but I got the one who's apparently picked up the basics and knows his job is just to process the form and leave the saving of my soul to the missionary types, so the form got processed, the money should be in the bank tomorrow, and I've now fulfilled that bit of my participation obligations for the Australian Federal Government.
Now all I have to do is find another bloody job to go into the diary, and then I'm set for the day. Hoo-freakin'-ray.
I'm currently feeling ripe for murder. A suitable candidate is the nitwit driver who damn near ran me over on the zebra crossing in Freo.