The shortest day and the longest night. We’re halfway through the dark.
It seems quiet. Maybe I’ve just got used to the near-constant cacophony of the builders next door? You’d hope they’d gone home by now, it’s barely a sniff from midnight. Caroline’s gone to bed so I’m left with a glass of rum and coke, YouTube and my thoughts.
My job’s at risk at work. That’s annoying. I found out at the end of November. Two days after I’d got back from nearly a month of convalescing from the whole foot/blood pressure thing, which is what could be described as “sub-optimal”.
It may well be fine. There are jobs for me to compete for. I just need to get body, mind and soul together, which feels a bit like trying to unscramble a plate of eggs at the moment.
Ho-hum. No point worrying about it. I will, obviously. I have been. That ship has sailed. I’ve had nearly a month to get used to the unsettling and uncertain reality. Funny to think one of the reasons I turned away from the idea of a career in acting was the lack of job security. Ho-ho.
Nothing to do about it until after Christmas. That’s when the horse trading and competition for jobs will begin. I’ve got two weeks holiday starting imminently.
In the meantime, I’ve faced worse than this. I climbed out of a nervous breakdown armed only with chapter 56 of a Booker Prize winning novel. I’m resourceful. When I was at college I wrote 69% of a musical in a fortnight. I’m a surprising motherfucker. I managed to get myself in a Doctor Who story with Paul McGann. That surprised me.
Five years ago I got laid off in far worse circumstances. Same time of year. Caroline wasn’t working at the time and I had to tumble back down into the uncertainty of temping. I wasn’t sleeping, fizzing with anxiety and got so stressed that at moments of crisis my throat tightened so much I was dry retching.
And yet I’m still here. A bit pissed off, and a bit pissed, but still typing.
It’ll be fine. And if it isn’t fine then I’ll cope. I’ll shine the light of words upon it.
Nearly midnight. It’s quiet. Time for bed.
It’s the longest night after the shortest day. But we’re halfway out of the dark.
The Flog 
Finger’s crossed Ben that it all works out, been in that situation more times than I care to remember.