24 January, 2008

Well well.

Well, 2008, I suppose I should probably thank you for waiting a record 23 days before you fucked me over. It's an improvement on 2007, certainly, but then I suppose all that started in 2006 and just sort of carried on.

I am starting to feel like a piece of toilet roll, frankly. Wipe your arse with me and throw me away. I don't mind! I'm biodegradable! There should be adverts for me on TV with some little puppy dragging me around and talking in a disturbingly un-cute voice.

Anyway, as I have said many times before (although it's sort of like bolting the stable door...) I know it's bad form to air all this on a public forum. So please be grateful that I'm not doing that life-casting thing because there would have been a lot of swearing and violence before the watershed and god forbid the kiddies see all the horrible things life is going to do to them once you stop protecting them.

This is all probably making me sound horribly bitter and jaded, isn't it? Funny that. I was in such a good mood. What with having to find another job. With no notice. Again.

I almost (note: ALMOST - I haven't completely lost the will to live yet) wish that they'd done it when I got back from Christmas, just before the letting agency decided to fuck up and then tell us that, due to something THEY had done wrong, we were going to get served our notice the next day. Because then I could have said, right, you know what, fuck it, and just buggered off home for a while. And it's depressing to think that two years ago, I would have given everything - DID give everything, in fact - to be here. And I've been through all this shit, just to stay here. And every time I think it's working out, every time I think it's going ok, something knocks me back - but for some reason I keep going. I find somewhere else, I move, I accommodate all these things that keep smacking me in the face, just taking it and taking it and taking it, just so I can stay put. I feel like a salmon leaping up a waterfall. And also I feel a bit like a pile of crap. I suppose this is what you called 'mixed feelings'.

In other news: I will have this fucking novel finished by the tenth of March if it is the last thing I do.

Which, going by current trends, it probably will be.


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