I decided to start going through some of my journalism school stuff.

Partly because I really needed to find my shorthand book to brush up on it, but also because it’s been sitting there since the end of 2009 waiting for me to do something about it.

There’s not much that would benefit me now from the notes that I’ve kept, because I’ve been out doing the job. But there are things that I’ve decided to keep just in case I do need to brush up on some stuff.

For example, I haven’t done any court reporting since I was in the course. I’ve now found my notes and if I do finally get a job and end up doing some court reporting (because that would be awesome. I love sitting in court) I can just refresh, type thing.

When I came upon my court notes I actually had a thought of going and sitting in the District Court for a few days. I wouldn’t necessarily write anything for publication, but it could be a worthwhile exercise to brush up those skills.

I also fancy going and sitting in Parliament. Now that I probably could write about.

In going through all my notes I came upon the realisation that I missed out on a lot because of my depression. I passed the course and I did well. I had nothing but positive feedback from my tutors. But it was a lot of little things. I didn’t put 100 per cent effort into things because, for me, I just couldn’t. I kind of regret that now. Not getting the help I needed when I first needed it, but waiting till I was in the most stressful year of my life. Even then, I didn’t receive the proper help or the necessary time to essentially heal.

I did the course, I passed the course, but I floated through it like a ghost. And I’m starting to think that that is my downfall in getting a job.

Maybe I just wasn’t dedicated enough, or put in enough effort. But the fact is that I loved it. The course and the people helped me through. I need to write to feel sane. When I’m on my meds and I’m working at something I love, I feel normal. Currently, I don’t feel so normal. I feel like I’m floating through life, with no real purpose. Not doing anything significant.

I had all these plans after high school. I was going to get out of Hastings and out of New Zealand and never come back. But here I am, living with my parents again and haven’t set foot offshore since I was 12 years old.

It’s all about to change. I’m essentially moving to Wellington on Wednesday, with possible plans to move to Australia at the start of next year. But to do this I need a job. I want a job where I get to write, where I get to do something I love and do something that makes me feel normal. I just don’t know how to get that. I don’t know why people don’t want to hire me and I don’t know how to get the job that I want. I’ve started losing hope in ever finding a job in the journalism industry even though that’s the thing I want most in this world.

This post has deteriorated a bit. I guess that’s what happens when I don’t blog in awhile. Or just get writing. The words just end up writing themselves. They flow. I am the master of the written rant.