I got horrendously drunk at my Blast Theory leaving do last night, so am feeling a little sad and delicate today. I somehow managed to cycle home from the pub, probably in a not so straight line, wrestled my bike upstairs into the flat (sorry neighbours), passed out on the sofa, woke up at 3am, and stumbled into bed – not before smashing the soap dish in the bathroom first though. It’s a good job I already have a boyfriend, eh.
I’m meant to be working on a job application today, but am procrastinating big time. It’s the personal statement bit I am stuck on – that bit where you have to sell yourself without sounding like an arrogant twat. I’m not sure if I am in the right frame of mind for it, if I’m honest – but I need to stop being a pussy and get on with it.
I’ve generally been struggling a little this week to focus on one thing at a time, because even though I am now officially unemployed, I’m somehow incredibly busy. My last two days at Blast Theory were spent bashing out a detailed ‘how to’ guide on crowdfunding, collating everything I’ve learnt over the past months into something that other arts organisations can use. I’ve really enjoyed writing it, actually, and it’s nice to have something with my name on it as a sort of ‘legacy’ of my time there. Oh, I will miss them so much. Need to stop dwelling on that…
Alongside that, I’ve been doing work for the EU project and writing part of a funding application for the film I will hopefully be working on, as well as writing a job application and staying up late to draw this week’s illustration.
On top of that, it’s Sinterklaas next weekend. I don’t usually spend Christmas in the Netherlands, as the tradition has always been to exchange gifts for St Nicholas and it’s the only time of year that our newly constituted family (consisting of my mum, her husband, his children and my brother and I) all get together. I love Sinterklaas for exactly the reasons that make it very stressful: rather than just buying a load of stuff and everyone diving in at the same time amid a frenzy of hastily ripped wrapping paper and muttered thank-yous, Sinterklaas involves making things and writing verses with each parcel. We take turns to unwrap our gifts and read out each verse aloud, usually paired with howls of laughter. The making stuff often gets lost in the demands of modern life, but the verse-writing is sacred. At the time of writing, I have bought exactly zero presents and written zero verses, as has Oliver, so we’ll be bringing our notebooks for the plane journey.
On the plus side, I am currently travelling to London to see Bonobo play at Alexandra Palace. And we’re seeing Dele Sosimi tomorrow night for the first time since Soundwave in the summer. In between all the things I have to do, and going out, I will hopefully be way too busy to feel sad.