An update, a commitment and a rant: leaving the Library's bubble

Back with a bump
I've been suffering withdrawal symptoms from my beloved Library; almost two weeks since I moved out and back into my parents' house. Symptoms are many and varied. I'm unable to pass a shelf without compulsively tidying the books on it - my books, my mum's recipe books, the books in the local public library - and being woken from dreams at 3am by the imaginary trill of the Library front door bell.

So what have I done since leaving? I'm applying for library assistant jobs and traineeships up and down the country, from Edinburgh to the Isle of Wight, while working on the novel that began to take shape in the silence of the Reading Rooms, walking the Neurotic Russell and remembering how to cook (there are perils in having all your meals served to you in the bistro at work!). Unemployment really doesn't suit me and I miss being around lots of people all day, so the sooner I can be safely ensconced in another job, the better.

On the dole
Another incentive to entering the employed persuasion - I've signed up to Universal Credit to support me while I'm looking. It took several attempts, and eventually ringing up groggily at 8am, to get through to the Department for Work & Pensions, then I got to answer a very long survey about my requirements (pregnant? disability? children? be-partnered?) before being told to wait for a call to arrange an appointment. This call came at midday, and after that I hared to my local jobcentre for an appointment. For anyone who doesn't live in the countryside: the public transport system almost guarantees you won't get anywhere you need to within an hour. I hurled a bewildering array of identity-proving documents into my handbag, scraped a brush through my hair and pulled on presentable jeans instead of my colourful, baggy hippy trousers, and leapt onto the next bus for the twenty-five minute ride. Once I'd located the jobcentre, my docs were photocopied and I was ushered into an interview room, acutely conscious of the fact I'd forgone any makeup and my latest breakout was glaring for all to see. Do you have to look smart for a Jobseekers' interview?

Now I am committed to jobhunting 35 hours per week, recording my activity online for my 'Work Coach' to review, and fitting in all I do to earn my keep around it. Sometimes the process feels more intense than the actual job I had - non-stop concentration, feeling almost like Big Brother's watching me through my laptop. No joke; the list of sanctions for failing to uphold my 'commitment' is longer than the agreement itself...

Get your dirty hands off my libraries.
To escape the monotony of sitting in the house, I regularly walk up the hill into town, through the remains of a cemetery next to the church where I was christened, stopping to read the worn gravestones and see if I can find an older one than last time. The stones date back to at least the 1800s, and sometimes I trace the names, simple lines on rock, uprooted from where they were first set and arranged by the side of the path. Right up at the top, across the high street and up a slope from the car park, a nondescript brick building squats. The library. I've been coming here since I was a toddler, and now it's my refuge at the crossroads, the pause between chapters. Sometimes I've got names in mind, mostly I just wander along each and every shelf looking for inspiration. Once I've got a pile, I sit and read about sixty pages of the most compelling book. I hear the librarians muttering darkly about losing their jobs, discussing the rumour that the library might be bashed and squeezed and pushed into a spare room at the leisure centre over the road. A mum brings her young children in after school and they rush to the shelves and start picking books; at the table over from mine a few elderly people are perusing the papers, or poring over local history books. This place can't go. It can't be shoved next to a sweaty gym, over the swimming pool, tucked away like an old relative in a nursing home, waiting for it to die. If you ever wonder why I intensely despise the Tory regime - this is point 1. The decimation of the arts. I watched as my youth theatre group was shut down, drama workshops at the local theatre cut, dance lesson costs shoot up, county music services crushed - all down to lack of funding - and now they want my libraries.

I'm reading: The Long Earth, Terry Pratchett and Stephen Baxter
I'm listening to: For the Night to Control by Electric Century, on repeat.
I'm eating: all the pizza. There was no pizza in my Library.
I'm writing: A NOVEL. FINALLY. One day you'll find out what it is.

This is the Neurotic Russell. She likes sitting on the sofa - by herself.

My latest pile from the library. Have also ordered new books, and haven't finished reading the last lot I bought. Somebody stop me (try and I'll bite you).