Every Monday and, for what it’s worth, most other workdays I stumble half naked and comatose into the bathroom and begin my morning ablutions. Every Monday morning, I look at my reflection in the mirror and I look awful. Every Monday morning I see my reflection and I think to myself “This can’t go on for another 40 years”.

Imagine it. Another 40 years of waking up, looking like shit, feeling like shit, feeling undervalued and complacent only to be carted off, demented and frail, to some smelly old peoples home to die in a high backed arm chair in your own piss while some minimum wage care home assistant force feeds you 3 week old soup.

This morning I really couldn’t be arsed to go into work. But, with willpower I only wish I could muster to combat tobacco addiction, somehow I managed it. I hauled myself into work, driving on autopilot. My brain has been ticking over with endless thoughts about what I’d rather be doing, how it could be done financially and with minimal disruption. Normally this would send me into a pit of despair but something “etherical” is holding me up. Hope? Feels like it.

There has to be away where I can maintain a similar lifestyle, pay the mortgage and have more time at home to do the things that matter like fixing up the house, spaffing about on the internet and able to go out when I feel like it.

There has to be.

Even if it is working only 3 days a week or a couple of hours a night…Maybe working for myself and doing something rewarding.

But another 40 years of this bollocks? Fuck that.