brand new day

Rejection. Whatever the cause, it sits by your bedside waiting for eyes to open, full of a new day's sparkle. And then...blam...oh yeah, here I am ready to remind you that you is a failure, baby.

There I am putting my best foot forward and nope. nope. nope. Doors closing and apologies spilled over into my week like a melancholy waterfall.

So, of course, I went straight into 'sorry for me' mode. Gah, how rubbish can one person be. Here goes... I'd been killing it on the writing submission front by hitting two or three stories a week and of course there was the interview.  But how very quickly my hopeful heart sank when my stories and poems didn't make the grade and the job simply passed me by. Everything I offered was getting to the final hurdle only to be sprawled across the finish line watching the backs of winners.

My inspiration died and dried up all my writing. And it finally seemed like my teaching life was done for good this time.

Then off the back of one of those 'feedback' calls where you get to hear all of your faults, even though you'd realised them the minute you were driving home from the interview, things started to look a little more blue sky-ish.

Fast-forward and not only am I writing again, the sun's out and I am an employed teacher again. Go me, right?

Sometimes those doors need to close in order for you to find an alternative entrance. Challenges lie ahead but my head's up for the first time in a while, so bring it, bring it, bring it. 

It's going to be strange going back to the working grind after so long at home. I've had the privilege of structuring my own days, exploring my own dreams and spending more time with the girls and whilst that's not going to disappear completely, I am going to be a bit weirded out having those Sunday night blues again. Or then again, maybe I won't.

One thing I won't miss is the stink attitude from some people who cut me the side-eye when asking 'are you working yet?' as though I'm a fully paid up member of  The Farage Fan Club.  Unlike the lovely, lovely people who have asked about the progress of my writing - thank you to those people, I am still putting pen to paper and the dream lives on.

I am doing the running man in my garden right now. On my own. In front of my cats. They don't care.

fix up, look sharp

Application letter was successful. Tick.

Date of interview in bold letters on the calendar. Tick

Researched latest government buzz words and memorised all the gazillion things I've done in 20 years of teaching. Tick.

Crammed on all the wierd and wonderful possible questions from a student panel. Tick.

Primped and preened my presentation to a shine that could be seen from space. Tick.

Enough petrol in the car, sorted childcare, driven the route in rush hour to avoid any chance of panic. Tick.

Outfit and hair sorted. No. No. No.

Panic ensued.

I mean, come on. Having been out of the work place for over a year, that's what was bothering me before the big interview day. What I was going to look like?  I am, dear reader, hanging my head in shame. But I suppose it all stemmed from the fact that I've been slouching for four seasons in my garden cabin; just me and my cats. Whilst sticking to my 'don't leave the house without foundation or mascara', there have been a few days when it seemed I was reliving my uni days. If it doesn't need ironing, I'm wearing it.

And then comes the day where I've got to look professional again, look like I'm Shonda Rimes bad-ass. I was fully convinced that my fuller figure couldn't be contained within my work clothes from a year ago and I didn't have time to trek across London to my hair saviour. What was a #Post40 mama to do?

The solution? Found the dress that I felt the most 'me' in and plaited my hair into a style that would stay put, come wind, rain, hurricane - you know, the one where your head becomes a bobby-pin cushion.  Then spent my time getting my prep on rather than shopping my feet off.

As for the day? After an in-tray task to beat all in-tray tasks, a lesson that seemed to end in two minutes, a student panel where I admitted I wanted to be Gemma Cairn, an interview with two Heads where I smiled a lot (and answered questions obviously), a presentation in front of the other candidates and another interview with three Heads; I was exhausted. 

My drive home was full of me talking to myself about what I should have said or done differently - why is it the great stuff comes to you AFTER the interview??

It was a day that threw me in the deep end and I surprised myself by swimming with my head above water.

Well done me.