For the first time in what seems like for ever I don’t actually have anything to do. Lately I’ve been feeling guilty about sitting at the computer and writing things because surely there are other things for me to be doing? Like fixing up the house, selling the Mondeo or getting the Vectra MOT’d and Taxed. Weird feeling it is. I don’t have to be in work until next week but I can go in on Friday “if I want to”. Even then it will only be for 3 hours.
More bizarrely is the fact that I don’t actually have to be back at uni until around about the 20th. Its weird. Yet I see people who have already returned to work moaning and griping like I used to…”Oh my god I don’t want to be in work”, “Where has my holiday gone?”, “It’s weird being back”; all uncomfortable thoughts. Thoughts I once shared with the majority of you.
Self realisation has hit me once again like the all knowing frying pan of humility. What is it I actually want to do? I finish this course in 2 and a half years. That is not long in the grand scheme of things but my thoughts now turn to work experience and trying to get a job or some recognition in the field of journalism. Yet the thing that strikes me, this frying pan of humility, I don’t actually want to sit in a fucking office anymore. I don’t want to sit and pretend to be over worked when actually I’ve got a teeny bit of photocopying and a bit of a stapling between me and an afternoon wanking it off over LJ. Nor do I want to be one of those stress mongers who get up at 4am in the morning, travel 45546346 miles to work on cramped, over filled commuter transport only to sit behind an ill fitting desk rustling up figures on the tax fluctuations of Belgian banana imports for some balding executive with a six figure salary, two houses and cocaine habit rivalling the entire England football team, then catching the 8pm train home getting in at 11pm and having to do the whole thing once more the next day. Even the thought of working for ones self, quickly firing off a 3000 word feature on Peruvian prune marketing three hours before the deadline, does not appeal to me. The wife and I have even talked about working for ourselves. Producing our own magazine or something. Sounds like bliss but the reality would be similar to the stress monger.
If anything, this twice yearly realisation (and confrontation with the frying pan of humility) is stronger because of my current situation. I can only assume that until something comes along, grabs me by the balls and captivates my imagination and enthusiasm I will continue to think of work as a punishment we must all suffer because of our birthright. That is not to say I am losing interest in my degree. Far from it! I can’t wait to get back into it and sponge up all the information and experience! But that’s like ages off yet.