Bouquets and brickbats
Finding out that Foucault and figures didn't fulfil me, I jacked in my psychology degree last year. Then came the court case and it was all I could do to keep my house in order, my children alive and my sanity intact. With that over and babygirl out of primary school I started to think about what to do with myself, more to the point, for myself.
The usual things sprang to mind; I could properly train in IT, get qualified and paid for all the things I currently do, self-taught and gratis for pc-phobic friends. Except my skill level appears to be bang in the middle of all available courses and I'd be either frustrated or overwhelmed. Go back to book-keeping? A trial balance is a trial balance even after all these years. Still soul numbingly dull too, I expect. I'd quite enjoyed being an area manager in distribution but when I remembered the amount of work there was to do at home as well as travelling and early starts I realised it wasn't exactly single parent friendly.
I thought back to when I left school. I wanted to train as a hairdresser. Work with people, be creative, see my own hands doing something that lifted someone else, that's what I wanted. As things turned out I was offered an accounts job via a teacher that bought into my intelligence rather than my personality and took it, needing the freedom from home that a wage packet represented.
Deciding to complete my youthful dream I looked into hairdressing courses and they seemed great except... well, to be honest, two teens and a tweenie of my own is quite enough for me and salon school is banged out with girls who have just left secondary. The thought of listening to teenage angst all day, let alone having to buy the drinks cos my college-mates were underage, was like dark roots to my baby-blonde fantasy.
Reading the local rag I came across an advert that made me do a little 'oh yes!' inside. Within two minutes I'd found the website and applied for an application form (damn red tape!). It arrived, having gone to the wrong house first, the morning of the college open evening so, looking as if I'd rushed straight from doing a million other things, I turned up. A long queue and a dozen or more forms later I talked to the tutor and fell even more in love with the whole idea.
She said 'you're going to be such fun to work with' (my heart smiles) then went on to tell me there was only three places left (heart sinks) oh, and a £200 registration fee payable on application (heart stops). She may as well have asked me for two million quid! I booked a formal interview anyway and rang sis to let her know I'd be needing a hair model after all and to arrange my shooting if I began to talk in txt spk about boybands and Hollyoaks.
'I'll give it to you', says sis.
'Oh, babe! Really? Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I'll pay you back as soon as...'
'I said give, you daft prat. After all you've done for me this is...'
'But, but, have you got it? I mean, what ab...'
'Angie! Just shut up for once and take it!'
'... *gulp*'
I went to the interview clutching a lovely reference from my sensei and a cheque from sis. Even as I aced the literacy and numeracy tests I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all for nothing and the places would be taken by people that had had instant access to a couple of ton at the time. Going through the detailed course content and last years portfolios with the tutor I almost asked her if I was wasting my time but didn't want to spoil the nice chat we were having. We got to the bit where she asks if I have any questions.
'Er, only one. Be honest, do I actually have any chance of getting a place or are they gone already? I really don't want to be waiting for a letter, I'd rather just hear it now and chalk this up as interview experience'
She laughed, 'Angela, I'd already decided last week you're definitely on the course. To be truthful, even if you'd not been able to spell your name I'd have sorted something out!'
My relief and joy decided to express itself in the form of saturday night tv shows. I told the tutor she reminded me of Simon Cowell then rang sis and blurted out,
'Tonight, Matthew, I'm going to be... a trainee florist!'
On a not so happy note, it looks like every bugger in bloody Belgium is voting against me in the Big Blogger poll this week. I haven't even posted my latest task so it's not that that's upset someone!
Perhaps it was the sexual embarrasment I blogged last week. Yep, the ex involved has obviously recognised himself and taken his revenge. Oh well, I know no-one remembers the one that came fourth in anything but at least I got through to the final week.
*sob*
