But for how long?
With St. Patrick's Day in the middle of this week; I thought it only right to have it as a holiday. I very rarely got St. Patrick's Day off when I was working. I got 2013's St. Patrick's Day off. But aside from 2017 when Beauty and the Beast was released; March 17th was a beguilingly boring day at the cinema. You'd be dealing with absolutely nothing, despite Belfast City Centre booming with life.
This year I stayed in-doors. With an Irish theme running around me. I baked my first Irish Soda Bread. If I was to make an assessment I'd say next time to not use as many caraway seeds or as much buttermilk. The former's taste was alien to me. I spent a period of the day wondering what this questionable flavour was. Initially I thought it was because I had used a line of butter on the grease-proof paper on the baking tray; giving the base a battered melt. But as the bread cooled, its texture realigned and my brain had a time to process the new exposure; I have discovered it was an overdose of caraway seeds.
But there was more. I spent the day reading Bernard MacLavarty's Collected Stores. Five collections of his all composed into one volume. Ranging from 1977 to 2006. Almost like the initial Star Wars series. And similar to them; it was the later ones that weren't as memorable. Maybe because they didn't take place as much in Northern Ireland. I'm terrible for falling into the parochial feeling that this island offers. Tea and bakeries and colloquial language and old fashioned decor... When I step into any old style pub in Belfast or a cafe / restaurant that have gone for a vintage style; I slip into such warmth.
Usually the BBC creates a concert for St. Patrick's Day. The past two years were a little difficult. I think they ran an archived session due to not being able to host. Yet this time round an hour concert named Ceiliúradh Na Féile Pádraig (available on BBCiPlayer until February 2023) was broadcast. After having a scrumptious Belfast Pizza, I took my second (alcoholic-free) Guinness and let the fiddles and voices wrap themselves around me. The Keane Family's rendition of My Belfast Love was particularly affecting. And there were other rises of emotion and heart-tickling notes played throughout.
But once Friday came; my hangover-free hangover was about to begin. The whole of the Holylands in Belfast was probably decimated with chaos and vomit from drunken students. The City Centre sprinkled with green and gold confetti. And I...
I applied for two jobs. Both of which rejected me. One of them got back to me by 9:30am. Which I appreciate. No more lurking around thinking if the job is in the bag or what to prepare...a straight off rejection was a double-edged sword. I could move on. But not so quickly. Rejection is something we all have to face. I know my mother, bless her, gets more frustrated with it it on my behalf than I do. I'm quite confident of my abilities and adaptation to new processes and work loads. Yet it's that feeling the rest of the world has no interest in letting you prove this.
I'm fortunate to be living with my parents. My expenditure isn't high. So I can be a little more flexible in the time I use for work. And if I'm totally honest I keep a little smirk on my lips, knowing what I could have done for such a business or a company - and they have lost out on me. You could argue I'm treating the job market like my past dating life.
Only time may change this attitude. Soon I will need a job. And I wonder if my desperation will get the better of me. I'm hoping it'll be my bravery that'll flood out; correcting the rejecting. Causing such a change of my circumstances that I will be questioning why I didn't do it sooner.
