Proximity

NOW

Hadley

Since there's no point starting from the beginning, I'll keep going from where I am.

About six, maybe seven-ish years ago, when I was still at uni, there was a kind of accommodation better known as 'the dump'. Cheap and convenient it certainly was, and made up for the lack of glamour in the mouldy walls, dusty floor, grungy furniture and questionable flatmates. However, this time I was going to be focused, find myself a job, and certainly not meet with any man if I wanted some sort of joint custody. Or in other words - work my arse off and not have any sex.

The windows of my room were dirty, but better than a dim bulb for light, so I placed a phone and newspaper in front of me, and got to work.

I had an English degree, so why not try applying for teaching roles? - Need experience and qualifications and all that do-dah which would make a two week job-search a two-year one.

Journalist?; nah - it's choc-a-block genius kids that had only been offered internships, and no available, paid roles.

Editor? - Yeah, right.

Short story writer?; only if I wanted to starve.

There's a sense of panic when you realise that you're on your own. I'd always been proud of my degree, placed in a frame at a house that was no longer mine; a pride that I'd not have to claim jobseekers' allowance and be one of those benefits-mums with no future other than to work in McDonald's. And now I didn't even have bravado.

There was a page next to the professional jobs, advertising being a cleaner, burger flipper, or nanny. The last one sounded OK. I mean, I wasn't God's gift of patience, and there were days when I couldn't stand the sight of Hugh's and Leila's faces because they were either too loud, or too grumpy. But all mothers face that, I suppose.

There was another job, too. Bookshop curator. I could do that, I told myself and work two jobs - part time in both.

Maybe this is the start I need.