The money is less, the job more tedious; I’m not sleeping and I drink every evening. It seems also, judging by my lack of activity online, that I am too down even to put my experiences into words.
For me to write a blog, I must take steps to contextualise my situation and dampen down the drudgery that feeds my depression. Some amount of hope, the thinnest shavings of positivity are needed before I can place into words all that is me – the consuming abject misery of temporary employment. These writings are the key component of a cathartic process as I begin to come to terms with the latest instalment in the miserable serialisation of my so-called life.
A couple of weeks ago, I worked a nine-hour week, earning just enough money to pay for an evening’s central heating. Believe it or not, I have been forced to lower my standards. For the past two weeks, I have been working in a building society. The building society that I work for is inevitably struggling in the current economic climate. Consequently, I am little more than a human punch bag positioned behind a desk, waiting for city boys to biff me into giving two shits about their plight. As the financial world crumbles, I stare into space and wrongly count money into the hands of the disenchanted. And I have a name badge.
I want a slice of happy pie. I want to use my brain, my skills, my ideas for good.
There is good in the world – check out the Vinyl Fairy true story for proof.