‘tis my blog so I can bend the rules. “thou shalt not write when thy is triped”, is, I’m afraid, out of the window for tonight. (Although I’m setting off optimistically expecting that I will be able to able to glue this to my blog later).
Anyway, I’ve just had a very ambiguous time, banging off the walls and making cheese on toast that now seems to be made of plasticine, and oddly trying to fold my suit trousers into a neat pile instead of hanging them up….
I don’t know whether this job found me, or I found it, but it’s an unhealthy relationship, like putting Herrod in charge of Mothercare. Just about now I feel like I have something very important to say but I’m trying to articulate it with a head full off mashed potato.
It’s got something to do with connections. Not opposites, I don’t believe in opposites. But I feel again like I’m close to a breakthrough, a moment of clarity, it has something to do with relative levels of hope and disappointment, of guarding and shutting doors and making sure the lights are off, of protection and no investment, of staying within and not straying without, because it’s warm out there and cold in equal measure and…..and of course because I’m drunk. Again. Corporately rat arsed and trying to feed the dogs (here, you have the plasticine on toast I don’t want it). Singing loudly in a field in the dark in my suit, I feel good, and looking up and then sitting suddenly in the mud.
So that’s okay then, clear as dishwater, I’m glad I got that off my chest.
Oh, I wore brown shoes to the City today, and I think they’ve cost me the client despite my bar skills.