My mood over the past few days can be summed up in one word: "Eurgh"  If you want it summed up in a slightly longer word, then you could use: "Eeeeeeurgh."

The interview went well.  Out of two positions that were available, there were three applicants, including myself.  Given that two of us were Branch Managers from the same company, and that we had been recommended for the job by someone who used to work with us, and was now working with the new company, whereas the third applicant was an Assistant Manager at a rival company, I expected it to go well. 

Added to the fact that the recruitment consultant admitted to me that he’d only put forward the third candidate so that he had more chance of getting his own commission by offering a range of candidates instead of just two, and then learning that a) this candidate couldn’t find the place that the interview was being held (Stansted Airport - it’s only signposted absoultely everywhere in 20 mile radius) and also that she called the recruiter and asked if it was possible that the man she had the interview with arranged to meet her somewhere else so that she could find it easier and I felt that the job was mine.  Especially as the interview went fairly well - not brilliantly, but by no means badly.

So when I was called later that day to be told that I hadn’t got the job, and also that there was no feedback, I was stunned.  I emailed the guy who had interviewed me, thanked him for his time and hoping that he would "keep me in mind for any future vacancies" and also asking for some feedback, but have heard nothing back, so I’m left wondering what I did wrong.

Since then I’ve been in a horrible mood.  I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anyone and it’s all I can do not to stay in bed all day.  Yep, classic signs of depression, though I am confident it’s not that as I have made an effort to get out where possible, even though I feel like crap.

So now, what I thought was an in-the-bag job has fallen by the wayside.  Annoyingly it was something I was confident I could do well in, and also something that I felt I’d earn a lot of bonus in.  Picking apart the interview, as I am wont to do at the best of times, let alone when I don’t get the job, I can see that perhaps I was too relaxed, and that also I possibly stressed the fact that I wanted to get promoted a little too often.  It’s not always a bad thing, but sometimes it can come across that if you’re too keen for promotion, you don’t actually want to do the job on offer, which wasn’t the case.


Later that night I did a geocache at a church near Wickford, which was on the way to where I was meeting Tasha and James to play badminton.  After I’d found it, instead of heading back to the car as I normally do, I decided to take a closer look at the church.  History has always fascinated me, and although I never liked it at school (by all means tell me what happened and I’ll hang on your every word.  Ask me to remember the year it happened, or the exact events leading to it and I’ll lose all interest), I find myself learning more about the history of stuff as I get older.

The church itself had been around for 700 years or more, as I got closer to the main building, I had to walk past some graves, one of which had a piece of red litter - an envelope to a card - laying near it.  I don’t like litter at the best of times, but for it to be caught in the grass on a grave obviously tugged at a heart string, so I decided to pick it up and throw it in the nearest bin out of some possibly mis-placed respect for the dead.

As I picked it up, I realised that it was unopened.  Turning it over, it had simply "Mum" enscribed on the front in the handwriting of an 8 year old.  Looking down at the grave, it was that of a 39 year old woman who had died a few years previously, a few weeks short of her 40th birthday.  A birthday that fell in late June.  

It turns out that the card had been blown from where it had been placed by the son or daughter three weeks previously.  I placed it back, right side up, and did my best to wedge it in the long grass that had kept it from blowing away, crossed myself and said a silent prayer and headed back to the car, no longer wanting to look at the church.

As I sat in the drivers seat, thinking about the early death of a mother, and the child that she had left behind who had visited and left a card on her birthday, I felt a single tear roll down my cheek.  I’m not normally one to shed a tear at others misfortune (as anyone who has access to my Facebook updates will tell you), and when I then started thinking about my own kids and what would happen with them were either I or Mel to die, I suddenly found myself crying my eyes out, alone, in a church car park in the middle of a small town.

The tears fell for what felt like hours, but in reality could have been no more than twenty minutes.  Was it tears for the family left behind by the tragic death of their mum?  Or a convenient excuse for tears at being told I wasn’t getting the job I’d felt so confident of getting just a few hours earlier?  Or was it a classic sign of depression kicking in?  God only knows, but as I sit here now I feel a little ridiculous in retelling the story, yet still a sadness when I think back to it.

Despite veering between feeling lonely and wanting to be alone (sometimes both at the same time) I met up with Tasha yesterday and spent a couple of hours doing pretty much sod all.  It was a welcome distraction, as was going to town today to have coffee and catch up on some reading.  I have the kids over the weekend, though I admit to not really being in the mood for them and their varying moods.  And next week I should really start thinking about my future and what I want to do with it.

For now, I’m happy to mope for another 24 hours before I get the kids, and then will give myself an almighty kick up the arse and get things back on track again.

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