It’s signing on day and, as usual, the last three nights have been spent not sleeping worrying about what indignities I have to go through when I hit the DWP building.
Unemployment is stressing me out in a way I never thought possible. I”m a child of Thatcher, I spent much of the 80’s un employed or underemployed, but now, having worked and having been to University to get a degree, unemployment is hitting me really hard.
I don’t think I’ve been this down in years; I hate having to be berated for not wanting to do basic English and Maths courses as I’ve got Open University modules in both at a higher level, I don’t see the point, but apparently this means I”m unwilling to find work; I hate being looked at like I’ve just crawled from the sewer; I hate being treated like I”m trying to screw the government and steal money and I hate being told how to find jobs when I”ve been working longer than the mindless grunts on the front line.
Unemployment is making me ill. I do not want to be unemployed. I do not want to be patronised or treated like shit simply because I’ve just left University.
Today is likely to be unpleasant as I’ve now been unemployed for 12 weeks. At 13 weeks, you have to do a course on how to find work. I know how to find work. This particular course involves being sat in a room with 15 people all of whom have to look for work using a cranky computer. Just one, between 16. I look for work everyday using my mac. I don’t need to be bored out of my skull waiting for 15 others to do it. 2 weeks of this. Fucking outrageous.