Tag Archives: work

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

This week I have been mostly jumping for joy24.238

because I have got a new job. In four weeks I will start being an assistant at a small, young publishing firm by the sea. I don’t want to get ahead of myself too much or anything but I think this might actually finally be the beginning of my career. It’s going to be amazing you guys. As are my tiger socks.

I rode my bike all the way to Cramond and back, by the way. With P. He wouldn’t stop showing off and doing tricks. The sea looked like this. It was absolutely brilliant.

I took D, my favorite colleague, to the pub to tell him about my notice, and it was really fantastically sunny so we sat out in the beer garden and we talked about everything and laughed and even had little bits of seriousness chat as well. It was ace. Then I rode my bike home really fast again. I’m going to get a new tattoo.

Tomorrow I’m going away up North with Dollface and we are very excited! Just to stroll about in a changed scene and have a little mini-holidayette. There is much celebrating to be done. Back soon.

I wouldn’t normally do this kind of thing.

Today has been much more than okay. I could try to write about it all, try to pin everything down – I could write about laughing in the kitchen, smiling down the stairs at the big blue sky that feels like a promise kept; about getting the best text message and sitting on the bus at a stop light and the shining silver banner fluttering in the breeze from a window, flashing at me HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. About a little walk all on my own in the Hermitage of Braid where the bottom fell off the heel of my boot and I didn’t mind a bit, about feeling ridiculously, insanely lucky that 15 minutes from my happy, friendly, stuffy, ramshackle old office I could be here in this idyll, sitting high on a hill in the fresh dewy grass with daffodils filtering the light to gold, with the burn glinting as it runs by below, with the beautiful big trees reaching right up to this magnificent sky. About all the songs I listened to, lying there wrapped up in my purple hat and polka dot scarf, my green boots and the green grass, my skirt with the pink flowers on, my bright white legs goose-pimpling and then warming, surprised to feel the sunshine, and how hard it was to not sing along, how maybe sometimes I did a little bit because after all there was nobody else there, just me and the birds. And of course I could write about Helen, and a pat on the back. And about smiling all the way home, and coming home to my boy and putting on Wonderful World by Sam Cooke and dancing with him in the living room in our socks, holding each other close in that special not-shy, easy, supportive way and feeling very beautiful and happy and in love.
But I dunno, I don’t think I could ever really nail the way it just is.

I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.

It is Friday, it is 5.30 and I emerge from the lane and out into the constant noisy hurrying brightness – sunny by day, at least in my memory, neon by night – of Elm Row. My sensible pencil skirt is tight at the hip, but too big at the waist and rides up irritatingly, my sensible bra chafes under my left arm and my feet in their awful sensible flat shoes have run up and down the office stairs too many times today, they ache and protest at the old repeated impact, and there’s more – but I am happy. I have freed my hair from its tight, prescribed chignon and I shake my head cheerfully, chew ruminatively on the glittery pink hairpin that I will not wear for a week like a toothpick, hope that perhaps it lends me the aspect of a time-travelled, gender-bent, browbeaten, Semitic, less beautiful Jimmy Dean. I love this loosening of the locks, this symbolic emancipation – I often hate my long hair but at these moments, at 5.15, 5.20, 5.30, whatever time I make my quotidian great escape, I need it; I need it as a window needs a curtain to show it day and hide it from night. I am happy. I am happy because it’s Friday, it’s 5.30, and because I am young and in love; because I found a silly little present to send to my amazing brother in Yorkshire in his new, second-year, flat and I think he’ll like it; because I have a beautiful flat to return to with a soft sofa and a Playstation 2 and, soon, a wonderful and sweetly sexy boy; because my friends are marvellous and make me smile; because I have a party to go to, new hairstyles to try and fail and cursingly give up on; because I’m leaving the dusty office behind for a whole week – the dust, the ‘straw’, the papers, the files and Shelob, the alarmingly huge spider that seems disconcertingly to have made its home beneath or behind the filing cabinet – all these I will not see again until it’s October and many of the leaves I’m half-gazing adoringly at and half-looking through will have browned or fallen. Then I’ll walk this way again, and I’ll be tired again, and I’ll tie up my hair and loosen it again, and I’ll work hard and I’ll be happy.