22 & not a clue

There is this viscious chicken or the egg paradox which comes with living in London. You can't get a flat without a job and getting a job is infinitely harder when you're sleeping on a friends sofa without your own flat. So when I lost my dream flat in Shepherds bush for the second time I realised I wasn't going to get it all. 

I'm breaking up with the sofa I've been sleeping on for the past month and moving to Kent. Further from London, more expensive to commute. Why? Because it will be to live with my wonderful boyfriend, I'll be cared for and truthfully? It's the only realistic option I have left. I don't actually have anywhere else to go. 

When I got the news on Friday I sobbed unprofessionally and left blue roll bits everywhere. When my colleagues found my hiding place I knew work (my current PR internship) wasn't the best place for me today. I left and had multiple dramatic phone calls with my Iron Lady Norn Irish Ma. A plan of action was then made once I'd had a cup of tea and cried some more. 

Now, on Sunday evening I'm on a replacement rail service bus from London Bridge heading back to the sofa after a wonderful weekend with the beard. I still have absolutely no idea what the next four weeks are going to look like. Nor do I know when I will be moving back to London. But I do know I'll be ok. I do know that in 8 weeks time I'll look back and think, 'that was absolutely shite, but I'm fine now'. I know this because it's happened before. I learnt from it the last time. I dealt with this uncertainty and fear before. I have got experience. 

And despite everything, that feels good, that makes everything just a tiny bit better. Because this too shall pass.

I have already been back in London a month. Most of which has been spent either sleeping on a friends sofa or in front of my battered cream (*grey) mac book scouring the net for either a home or a job. After many viewings of would-be drug dens & one dream adult-cream-carpeted-wooden-floored chick pad I got my dream home & I move in in under two weeks. Hurrah! 

I have a PR internship. Well, a Social Media internship with a PR company. Which in my opinion is better. Don't believe me, well fine. But as far as working for free is concerned this is worth it. I am working with one of the forerunning companies in the industry, with awesome people who operate a 'No Dickhead' policy. As far as interning goes this is unheard of in the PR world. PR is known for it's dickhead-ish attitude, this company is a breath of fresh air and has changed the jaded view I once had.

Second week running and I even have a nickname; the Boob intern. Slowly beginning to get over the irony considering how well-endowed I am. Basically it's a long story involving me interviewing female colleagues on their opinions of their breasts. On my second day. Oh yes. This follows pouring a pint of water over my keyboard on my first day. As ever I am all elegance and professionalism.

At the end of the day I have succeeded, I have an awesome internship which I landed purely by chance by the skin of my teeth. I even have more work lined up the week I finish my internship. So why don't I feel like I've accomplished something? Why aren't I content? I guess because I know how long the road ahead is. And it's long. My reality is I will have to do at least one more internship whilst here in Melbourne and I will definitely have to do another in London.

Working for free in a highly paid industry, is there a keener irony. Why is it completely acceptable to expect young twenty-somethings to work for prolonged periods of time for free? Why has this become an established method of gaining employment? We live in the twenty first century where the common topic on everyones lips is the cost of living. If we are all so well aware of the costs of day to day life then why do industries encourage people at the very start of their career to bust a gut for free. We've hit the ground running but we're running on empty. We have air in our bank accounts and dust in our cupboards the majority of the time. Myself and thousands of other twenty-somethings can do nothing about it. We accept its the route to the career we are hungry for. I guess that's why I am not quite jumping for joy.

All that being said, I am honestly enjoying every second with this company. I am given responsibilities, my opinion is valued and encouraged and I am being thrown into endless new situations and environments. I come into the office each day ready to work on ten different things at once with the mantra running through my head of 'today is an investment in your future. Each day is a step closer and further along the path.' I cannot ask for more and I barely have time to really think about it. That and I don't eat anymore. HURRAH. There just isn't the time to think about lunch, never mind dinner. The only true downside is that my creative outlets have taken a serious back burner. I can tell this because my iPhone battery lasts all day. Seriously. I hardly tweet, I barely write and I haven't networked in over a week. Oh well. Find what you love & let it kill you. Bukowski you genius.