Sometimes I think living in the Star Wars universe would be more appealing than this shitty old world; despite the prevalence of death stars.
So today is the day. I knew it as soon as I saw the postman hand me the letters. One of those 'I just knew it' moments that represent a sort of mundane clairvoyance.
They don't use brown envelopes anymore, I guess. But the big black "THIS IS NOT A CIRCULAR. THIS IS IMPORTANT!" slogan emblazoned on the front confirmed it; the same as the ESA50 form when that came a few months back.
The 16th of November is the date for my next WCA.
Curiously, and likely the only positive thing so far, is that I now no longer have to dread the post each day - until the next time, when I have to wait for the result of the assessment. A pointless affair really since the outcome is 99.9% preordained. I'm only surprised I passed last time, I certainly can't see lightning striking that favourably twice - and I have to act as if it won't.
It's a bizarre feeling to have to fear something as mundane as an envelope, but the sound of the letterbox snapping and post slapping the carpet has engineered a fear reaction in me. For the rest of my life I suspect that is how I'll react. It could be someone breaking into my home and that wouldn't be as stressful. One sound and that's how your life can change.
Now for the next fortnight I have to live each day as if it was my last because there is a very real chance it could be. I have £1200 in savings, which has meant, for the last couple of years, I have been unable to spend that on things that might actually help me - a decent computer or even a trip to somewhere new. The sorts of things that people who don't worry do - the sort of things that move a life forward. The money is there, but it has to wait for this situation, because if I fail - and I think it highly likely - I will need it to live, if only for a time.
That's the tragedy of it all; those savings won't last very long. A few months at least. Inevitably I would have to go to the Jobcentre that wasn't recently closed and make a claim for Universal Credit and hope that even £1200 is enough to tide me over until that claim comes through - if it does at all.
And then the fun really begins: dodging the conditionality and playing footsie with a psychopath who's only interested in causing problems for people who already have them.
All this begins with a journey, on a November morning, to an assessment centre. I feel like C3P0 and R2D2 in Return of the Jedi as they head to the impenetrable fortress of scum and villainy (not unlike the DWP) that is the sanctuary of Jabba the Hutt. Just like that place, the assessment tower is impenetrable: one must have the proper access codes - and I only have two thirds of what they want, so this could be a very short interview. In lieu of a driving license (I do not drive) you are told to bring 3 forms of ID. I do not have three, I have two: birth certificate and bank statement. That isn't going to change so they will have to accept it. What else can I do? I don't make the rules.
However unlike the two lovable robots, I am aware that I am walking into a trap. Threepio might not have known that he was to be handed over to a master of interstellar infamy, but I do.
Doesn't help me though.
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