It seems that intention, and indeed initial determination, to find a brighter and shinier post-redundancy job is not enough to simply secure that outcome.  It turns out it is not sufficient to just assume that because you think you’re pretty damn awesome, that anyone else (outside of immediate family and current spouse, which are also at times dubious) will.  It’s no good to think that you’re kind of a big deal when you’re competing with younger, cleverer and potentially better suited applicants.  (Who are also no doubt, thinner, richer and prettier too … obviously.)

Not one to admit defeat too early on I had set about applying for anything and everything with some enthusiasm.  My strike rate of application to interview turns out to be staggering.  Staggeringly low.  I’m no good at maths, but it’s something like 1 in 40.  But thanks to COVID 19 I at least had time on my side now.  My redundancy date was pushed back, but it was only a temporary stay of execution.  Still, more time to show them what they’d be missing when I secured that impressive new role.

Except, I still haven’t.  I’ve also only secured a very under par total of three interviews, one of which was the absolute worst interview of my life.  I was mortifyingly intimidated by the glamorous, Amazonian interviewer and stupidly hungover and ill-prepared.

It seems I am either not qualified or experienced enough or I am aiming my sights too low and am overqualified and will “find the role beneath” me.  I’d have thought that was a decision for me not them, but seems not.

It’s now impossible to apply with the same gusto as 4 months ago.  The fear of rejection is lurking behind every submission and the last interview saw me shovelling herbal anxiety pastilles in to my mouth like I hadn’t eaten in a week.  It is also hard to remain committed and positive whilst now accepting that when my current position finishes in just 4 weeks time, I will then face the very real possibility that I will be unemployed.  50 and unemployed – go me.

I do realise that it will at least give me free time.  Free time to perhaps work on my post-lockdown arse which is now so large it could apply for it’s own driving licence.  I am Day Eight (go me again …) without having had a drink.  I could try and walk the dog every day.  I could try to read perhaps.  But when I think of all the good things I am going to do to be kind to myself in this next chapter of life, all I have come up with so far is;

1. Drink water (1L) a day
2. Rub moisturiser in to face

And even then I’m woefully failing at both.  Maybe tomorrow will be the breakthrough I need.