"Even if I got rid of all my problems, I'd just go out and get new ones..."

Rantage. More rantage. Will cheer up soon.
10:22 a.m. on 2003-11-13

I hate IKEA furniture.

Well, to be fair, I don't know anyone who would actually like IKEA furniture. I was getting the hang of it, putting together large quantities of wood so they resemble a cupboard, but then... then I hit a problem.

I swear, the diagram never tells you to fit the wood together so the screw holes are at the back of the cupboard. This is so, when you come to fix the cupboard to the shelves, it doesn't fall off. Which, uh, mine does. It took me forty five minutes of picking the cupboard up, putting it on the brackets, it falling off the brackets, crushing my feet, and making me issue various expletitives that I won't repeat here, before it was actually up. And then I moved the shelving unit against the wall and it fell off again. AARGH!

Meanwhile, I am still trying to find a job. All this talk, about degrees being your magical, golden paved way to a fantastic job? Bullshit. I have a degree and all it has done for me is lead me to miss out on jobs. All I want is some admin work! I'm not asking much! But either I have no experience in working in admin, or I am overqualified and they fear I won't stick the job.

I suspect I'm repeating an earlier diaryland entry but then I'm doing as much to my parents. My mother seems insanely committed to me getting a 'career,' even if it isn't actually a career I want. She seems to think that because she's in a job she hates and never wanted to do, it's alright for me to do the same. In fact, I should do the same! It's character building! Or something.

My dad seems slightly more at home with the idea that I don't want a career - rather, I want a job that will keep me financially soluble while I plod away at 'the writing thing.' Y'know, that thing that has been my dream ever since I could pick up a pen, that little ambition that keeps my mind active about 23 hours out of every 24. My dad has even mentioned he might be okay if I just did a series of 6 month temp jobs - 6 months working, 6 months on holiday.

This sounds appealing. But it isn't what I want to do.

My stepmother believes that whilst I don't neccessarily need a career, what I should be looking at is jobs with a higher salary range. After all, she thinks, what is the point of me going to uni only to apply for a �10,000 a year job? Unfortunately, what she fails to recognise is that there are no jobs of the �15,000 range that will even look at me. To get that sort of money, you need experience. And as I've already said, I don't have that.

All this, and some other stuff I'm not going to go into on here, makes for one slightly unhappy Laura. The emails from my co-tourists detailing their latest holiday adventures don't help.

But I'm still cheerful. Christmas is coming up and I'm all organised. I have a weeks worth of work experience with (wow, lots of 'w's, HELLO alliteration) a local tv station. I'm broke... but hey! I'm painting my grandparent's ceiling this afternoon and being paid in chocolate cake, so it's all good.

Listening to: Billy Bragg - The Great Leap Forwards

Quote: "Here comes the future and you can�t run from it, if you�ve got a blacklist I want to be on it, waiting for the great leap forwards. If no one seems to understand, start your own revolution and cut out the middleman. Waiting for the great leap forwards."

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