still uncertain in Melbourne Diaries

Still no real news. I’ve been in several interviews, but haven’t been accepted or rejected for anything. There was an interview on Monday in Sydney, with the office in a beautiful location near Darling Harbour, two telephone interviews on Tuesday, and one booked for next week. No word on my current job, but the element of desperation is less than was previously the case. That said, looking for work is an exhausting and sometimes demoralising process, and I’ll be glad when it’s over. The overwhelming feeling is that now is time to leave the public sector, or be stuck in a relatively dead end legal position for the next ten years. One of the jobs, though, is a tremendous opportunity. It’s a long shot, but it would be a tremendous achievement if I got the position.

All of this is stressful and is having an intrusive effect upon day to day life. Last night I wanted to see the Meat Puppets play at a local bar (as an ex-grunge kid), but was too concerned about appearing tired and seedy if there was a video call with a big organisation today. I’d love to be on leave overseas right now, and had even planned a trip across China into Kyrgyzstan for June, but all leave has been put on hold until the assessment processes concludes.

Last night I was reading about Elliot Rodger, the kid who recently shot six people in the US. A lot of the material about him reminded me of boys I had met at that age, private school kids who were short and/or puny and obsessed about their lack of achievement supposed failings. You used to see them at nightspots trailing behind more popular football players and ridiculously handsome men, begging for attention, as if confirming their runt of the litter status. They seemed to have no concept of self – they were what everybody else said they were. The sad pick up artist online communities and rights for men groups thrive on some such tiny egos.

It also invited some comparisons with myself, though only some. When I was 19, I was a dedicated eccentric, often acting deliberately weird for attention, was very unsocialised (I’m still not that great), was subject to anxiety attacks and often felt sorry for myself for weeks at a time. But that resentment never spilt over into those sorts of violent thoughts Elliot wrote down. Perhaps the difference was simply that I had other things to do and look forward to: I was studying at uni, read books at a phenomenal rate, exercised religiously, loved music, and did occasional get out and have a few drinks. I didn’t have a girlfriend or an expensive car, but it wasn’t a huge issue. When I was 20 I changed my outlook a bit, had serious girlfriends, and changed some unlikeable aspects of myself a little. Elliot never seems to have had an outlet – no education to speak of, no hobbies except computer games and internet sites, no interest in literature, music, art, etc. The proudest moment of his life appears to have been flying in an airplane first class. Maybe that was what led him to fester in his own insecurities, obsessively ranking himself against quarterbacks and movie stars. These days I do have much to be resentful about. A stalled career, no significant girlfriends, a diminished (though not non-existent) social life, the fitness that I previously enjoyed being hampered by various injuries, and I’m starting to look like one of the Thenns from Game of Thrones. But I refuse to see it as particularly bad for me. Seeing life in other countries has helped in that respect. Statistically 95 per cent of the population has it worth off than I do. Statistically, 99.9 per cent of the population had it worse off than Elliot Rodger.