Fridays normally make me happy; it's dress down day at work and we generally finish a good 45 minutes earlier than usual and bring out the beverages for a cheeky 25 minute social pre-weekend gathering. It's a time to breath a sigh, sip a wine and for me... be embarrassed by whatever remark my two bosses decide to launch my now-suspecting way. (For anyone that doesn't know me, I have a tendency to blush whenever the attention is on me, not because I'm embarrassed but because...well actually, I don't know why, I used to be great in the centre of attention, I wanted to be the next Judi Dench and really could act and sing and be on stage and do it well. But since leaving school, it's as though my inner actress has simply resigned; if I get too much attention, I feel myself turn that merry old shade of lobster red and I simply cannot shake it. I wish I could, I think it's psychological. It happened once, and now it just happens sporadically and generally at the most inopportune of moments, like meeting a cute guy, or being asked a question in front of the office at work. Sigh.) Anyway, digressing. I really am not shy. I can talk for England, or write for England perhaps you are thinking, (the amount I ramble on about absolutely nothing interesting).
So back to today. I sort of found myself a little bit in limbo. Having worked 'where I am' for almost 5 and a half months, I was reminded today of the refuge I had take in temporary work, almost to the extent that I believed it would never end. My boss suddenly called across the office, 'Georgie, is this your last day today?' and the lead 'whatever' that runs inside of me plummeted to the depth of my toes and I suddenly feared I would once again be unemployed and 'looking for work' (as that is officially recognised as a state of being now). I have possibly another week at work where I am, perhaps two if I'm lucky, but then I return to that well trodden path of job-seeking and 'decision-with-consequences' making - neither of which I am much looking forward to.
A handful of us went for a drink after work and having spent copious months with a minimal-at-best social life, it was a relief to just have a drink and be driven through town with the windows down and a vocal appreciation for a Bon Jovi CD resounding through the air.
Once home, it seemed as though my Dad had brought half the army combat gear back with him from work before he heads off to 'wayward places' - (he is RAF, but his kit suggests otherwise.) I even had the especially surreal experience of trying on a bullet proof camo vest, gas mask, hard hat (for want of a better definition) and trekking boots. The bullet proof vest as you might imagine was full of solid panels that felt like concrete but is actually far lighter than those used by the mil in Afghanistan, etc. I immediately felt strange wearing such an essential piece of gear that's sole purpose is to prevent death, but also comforted by its substantial thickness. The gas mask reminded me a tad of scooba diving and that sensation of breathing into a snorkel that I never really liked and could never adjust to. I didn't keep that particular piece of paraphernalia on for very long.
Another weird element to my 'unusual' Friday was the conversation we had in the evening; reminiscing on our earliest memories, whether they be fabricated through photos or legitimate visual recollections. Mine was when I was two and a half, dressed in a red snow suit and sitting on a rocking horse in a German hospital, with my Mum, sister and Godmother while I was suffering from Croup. The rest is sketchy. My Dad remembered being waste-high to a snow drift but wasn't sure whether it was only photos that had induced such a clear and defined memory. It's odd how you can remember something so vividly only to find out that you have remembered it entirely wrong or with little sparks of creativity along the way. A study in the last decade or so gathered a group of adults and showed them a series of photos from their life. One photo had been fabricated to show a hot air balloon ride that never actually took place and almost every single one of the participants built a believable and nostalgic story surrounding the non-event. I wonder how often we see photos of ourselves as youngsters and engineer a whole memory solely from that one visual aid. Manipulation at its best??
Now I know many of you might be disappointed by this blog and its lack of wit or humour, but I've been feeling uncreative for a while and tonight I just wanted to write something contemporary rather than try to delve into the past and recreate some exciting or fascinating event from a period of my life. I hope you trust me when I say there is plenty more to come of 'My own little Hogwarts' and 'The Alabama Chronicles' (amongst others) and I hope you'll all continue to read and comment on any of my blogs that you like.
