I was thinking that it would be nice to have more money, to be able to afford the activities my contemporaries do: buy a house or unit, go travelling, or have a family.

Instead, I learned yesterday that I’m going to be out of a job by the end of June. And here was I thinking that the job was going well. Apparently though I’m not doing as much as I should be, even though I’m working several hours overtime per week (and not being paid for it). I did explain that I didn’t have time to do what was envisioned, but that didn’t wash.

I am also supposed to get people to do tasks that I have no authority to make them do – like sign cheques. Working at a not-for-profit organisation, the board are all volunteers with their own jobs, so all I can do is pester them. If they don’t come in for a fortnight, there isn’t anything I can do about it; apart from telling the recipients and the management that this is the case.

So by the end of June I’ll be on the scrapheap again. This time I’m pulling out all the stops to see what work I can find now, before the contract ends. I hope I can get work before Beelzebub pukes on the mattress.