I can't write good!
I'm a crap writer. That's the conclusion I have come to after being rejected for two jobs in as many weeks and today, I only came finalist in these magazine awards. No win or highly commended, just finalist. How boring. And disappointing. See, hope is no good. I *knew* I wasn't going to win, but I still went in with a bit of hope. And I didn't win.
Maybe I should take up some other career, something easy that I know I will excel at, like professional sleeper, where all I do is sleep (no, not have sex).
I had the joy of sitting next to my much hated boss at the awards (thanks for laughing at me when she sat next to me, J), who spilt coke all over my ex-boss and didn't even seem to care, and who was dressed like she got ready in the dark in this fluro yellow top with pink flowers on it. Yes, you heard me right folks, fluro yellow with *hot* pink flowers.
I have to assure myself that even though I am an obviously shit writer, at least I know how to dress. Most of the time. Ok, at least *some* of the time.
Maybe I should take up some other career, something easy that I know I will excel at, like professional sleeper, where all I do is sleep (no, not have sex).
I had the joy of sitting next to my much hated boss at the awards (thanks for laughing at me when she sat next to me, J), who spilt coke all over my ex-boss and didn't even seem to care, and who was dressed like she got ready in the dark in this fluro yellow top with pink flowers on it. Yes, you heard me right folks, fluro yellow with *hot* pink flowers.
I have to assure myself that even though I am an obviously shit writer, at least I know how to dress. Most of the time. Ok, at least *some* of the time.