The Compostual Existentialist

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It seems that careers and job prospects are the theme for May. Not just in my book but in other peoples. Once again I approach the edge of employability and I must decide my method of decent. Do I dive in head first hoping not to hit my head on a submerged rock? Or do I lower myself down gradually on a weak rope? These are the questions I ask myself. And yet I look around me and see others in similar situations. Other people that walk with me on my life path. I ponder the vast oceans of unspent and unchartered talent; the underuse and misguidance many of us face and recieve; the yawning gaps of apathy, diffidence and dispair we must bridge before we can move on; the familiarity we must leave behind if we are to change lanes and overtake lest we be stuck in a perpetual traffic jam.

Several options lie ahead for me.

  • – Keep following this path and see where it takes me.
  • – Double back
  • – Return to the slow lane and hope for someone to let me back into the middle lane
  • – Pull into the services and take a break
  • – Forge onward in the hope that the road conditions gets better and the traffic lulls.

It’s like a trip to a part of the seaside you’ve never been to before. The only images of which you have seen are postcards sent from those who have reached there before you. Will it be as idyllic , peaceful and serene as the pictures would have it? Or will it be garrish, overcrowded and awful akin to Blackpool or Skegness? The only way we can ever find out is to wait until we get there. When we reach our destination do we keep on driving? Or do we stay in a shitty B&B with flys in the lampshade and a peculiar smell coming from behind the wardrobe? Do we hope to find a more tranquil location? Or do we put up with the hordes of day trippers and kiss-me-quick hat wearing retirees in the hope that one day they will move on?

On my path, I intend to find that sleepy little seaside village. The one with the pub and the post office with a little giftshop. The one where few people go except perhaps to pick up a bottle of milk on their way to the caravan park. The one that only the locals and a few hard core surfers know about with the beautiful rolling sandy shoreline and occasional fishing boat. That way, when I get there, I can send you all postcards. Left turn ahead? Or do I turn right?

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Author: stegzy

Once, long ago, I wrote frequently on Livejournal. I then moved to Blogspot, where I discovered that blogging requires an audience. So I moved back to LJ. Then over to Dreamwidth, back to LJ, up the road of self hosting with Muckybadger before giving up entirely and moving over to Wordpress. It was at that moment I decided I would spread my compostual nonsense simultaneously across the blogosphere like some rancid margarine. And so here I am. I am a badger. But then I'm not really a badger. I am a human. With badger like tendencies. I am a writer, a film producer and a social commentator. I am available for Breakfast TV shows, documentaries and chats in the pub with journalists.

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