But youre an itch that I cant scratch - I know youre coming back.  Youve been gone so long youre fading and it takes all the time I can find just retaining thoughts of things we did while you were here.  But I know you will return my dear…

Coming Back – Gotye

She was nervous.  She had an interview today - not for a job, but about a job.  She was being interviewed as a Graduate by a company called High Fliers.  They were going to interview her 1:1 about her career so far and her work place, and then film her doing her job.  So working at her PC and partaking in meetings.  The issue being that most of her job is classified...  She hates things like this but always gets chosen to do them.  Shes spent the morning making sure her mock PowerPoint presentation looks OK and organising the fake meeting - calling mainly on her friends.  Shes been in the office since 7am but cant believe it is still only 8:56am.  It feels like she has been here for hours, days, years.  Shes still not sleeping restfully.  Shes so tired.

Offices are weird places.  Directly in her eye line a man is using his chair to put on shoes, another is stretching in a way reminiscent of a child asking a teachers permission, two women are having an animated discussion in Spanish, one man has the Honey Monster as his desktop background, another has a futuristic car...  Now theyre having an argument about tuning lights on/off in the office.  Someone has found the remote control for the lights and turned them on, then someone else started having a strop saying they wanted them off over their desk... 

Welcome to the Mad House one of the older gents by her latest temporary desk tells her.  Smiling slightly.  She smiles back and laughs. 

me:  Hows it going?

Harry:  frustrating

me:  How so?

Harry:  the reason i suspected a diagnostic wasnt flagging but was dismissed by Drew, is highly likely to be the reason it isnt flagging

me:  Ah....

Youre learning though.

Harry:  well kind of

i just dont really have the knowledge to back my claims up

if that makes sense

if I say are you sure about something to Drew, he says yes and i cant really argue

me:  Yeah.  I know

You will get there eventually though.

Harry:  but on the plus side, im right!

me:  Exactly

Harry:  and i think its because my reason for why it wasnt working did sound silly

(but right)

me:  Next time he says you're wrong explain your point then ask him to explain why he thinks differently.

Thats what I do.

Better than disagreeing openly.

Harry:  tactful!

me:  Yes

Harry:  like it!

me:  I am Queen of Tact

Plus it is respectful and you may learn something.

Harry:  my reason was the hole isnt big enough

me:  Yeah.....

Harry:  sounds silly

me:  A little

Harry:  true though!

just saying!

me:  Im nervous.

Harry:  why?

when you being interviewed?

me:  Meeting them at 12 at the gate.

Harry:  youll be fine

!

youre a natural

me:  Yeah.  Just hate this kind of thing.

Harry:  the camera loves you

me:  Dont make me come over there.

The camera hates me.

Harry:  hehe!

me:  Ill probably break it.

Harry:  perhaps if they ask you a stupid question

breaking it would be justified

me:  There are no stupid questions...... apparently.

Harry:  lies!

me:  Example?

Harry:  Is a cabbage a fish?

stupid question

me: http://rookery.s3.amazonaws.com/871000/871207_5fef_625x1000.jpg

Harry:  hahahaha!!

i had that on full screen then

not sure what martin thinks im doing now

me:  Looking at cabbage fish.

Obviously.

Harry:  the follow up question would be "why?"

me:  Because it was research.  We were debating the truth of a statement.

The interview went better than expected.  She was constantly aware of being the representative of the company.  Not herself.  No one would be interested in her directly.  She was asked to attend the conference.  Down to London for the day.  Should be interesting.

It's another day and her neck, shoulders and back are agony.  She'll have a headache by 12 o'clock.  No escaping it.  That's the problem with working at a computer – she cannot avoid sitting to work.  Cannot avoid typing or staring at a screen.  Actions which agitate her aching muscles.

  She meets with a friend for a coffee as an early lunch break then slogs through lunch.  A surprise newsy e-mail from an old teacher she admired is filled with excitement about projects overseas but peppered with bad news – battles with the NHS and cancer.  He, unprompted, writes an endorsement for her on LinkedIn.  She returns the favour.  Feeling appreciated for once.  Overwhelmed by how sweet her friend has been.  She uses the feeling to write endorsements for her friends she presently works with – wanting to share the love so to speak.

She endeavours to work on improving her body again.  She is presently disgusted by it.  She promises herself and begins by increasing the amount of water she drinks.  She'll start cutting out the treats which are daily at present.  She'll introduce dance again.  She will control this.  Not let it slide like she has been.  She will take control again.  She will own it again.  She is not in control of the pain in her neck and shoulder.  She never will be.  But she can control her own body if not her mind or anxiety or negativity.  It is a start.

She recalls a snippet of poetry she wrote years ago for a fierce Captain, pock-marked, scarred – a teacher who had served in Russia.  A teacher who liked and encouraged her.  A teacher who slipped her a book of poetry before he left.

The slip and squelch of the horse's hooves

as it pulls the mud into moulded grooves.

They had been tasked with emulating the style of Seamus Heaney.  That line still etched in her mind over 10 years later.  The image crystal in its clarity.  So much becomes hazy; the lens smeared with the Vaseline of time.  This memory does not.  This memory is permanent.  She wonders why it should command such permanence over others.