Priorities

I’m going to reassess my priorities. I managed to do this to myself by caring too much. To turn pop psychologist, I desperately wanted to be loved. Look at me, me, me cheeps the baby bird. Well, there are easier ways to be noticed.

I hold my colleagues in affection, but there are times when maybe you should let go and move on. No. What I’m really saying is this. Why in hell was I so caught up in my job that I let it almost kill me? Can I really stay in a job that did that to me? I think it’s about fucking time I got something back from them.

I’m starting to sound like a career girl. I’ve turned into someone I never wanted to be. Wage slave. Corporate whore!

When I was younger, I only ever saw a job as some dreadful thing I needed to do in order to get money to live and eat. Having a job was a barrier to the thing that I really wanted to do ever since being a little girl. Write.

Having a job really is a barrier to writing. When you start living for your work, spending all day at a VDU, the last thing you want to do when you get home is get the laptop out and start typing. Even a weekend isn’t enough time to persuade you to write. All you ever want to do is sit down and watch the telly and recover, because sitting on your ass at work all day just makes you so tired.

Four days I think. Four days of solitude and boredom in here had to build up to make me write. It’s been a long time and I’m badly out of practice. What happened to all of the alliteration, metaphors, sparkling visual imagery? I’d become so depressed (or scared) by the thought of writing that I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.