Happy Birthday Dr Seuss...
...though for some reason I found your books inexplicably scary as a child. And also you're dead. It was mostly Green Eggs and Ham, actually. Don't ask me why. Just another children's book which mildly traumatised me and alienated me from my peers (don't even get me STARTED on when Atreyu's horse drowns in the Swamp of Sorrows *sniffle*)
So. Right now I'm in something of a quandary. In the past three months, I seem to have either made a series of really bad or really good decisions, depending on how you look at it (that's code for whether you listen to my mother or not. Can you tell I'm Asian yet?).
I sort-of quit my job, which I've mentioned on here before. It's a long story, involving my firm not signing a training contract with me for reasons of their own (though they kept assuring me of my intelligence and likeability, and I was all I have a Masters and friends TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW. Okay not really, but still) and me realising that I didn't want to be an accountant and it all coming together in a nice venn diagram, where the overlap = unemployed.
Then I decided I'd just chill for a while. I needed a bit of time off, to recharge and figure out what to do. That's just about when we entered this big-ass recession. That's when sensible-me (the super-ego I guess) stands to one side with an expression that seems to say "Way to go with the decision making twit-face". And also seems to be judging me on my outfits. Baggy t-shirts that advertise an aerobics studio that my mum went to in the early to mid nineties are comfy, yo.
But I digress. With a disturbed feeling in the pit of my stomach, I start to search for jobs. Shit, I think, all the deadlines for applications to law conversion courses? Passed. BBC Jobs? Ditto. Anything else I can damn well think of that I might want to do eg. psychotherapy, media jobs, anything, anything, anything? DITTO. And if the deadlines haven't passed, the vacancies just aren't there. Or they'll be bloody competitive Crap, I start to think. No wait, more like CRAP.
So now I'm stuck in a quandary. And then roseability_ asks me the magic question. 'What do you do all day?' she says. 'Write?'
To which I say HA. I do stuff sure. Sort of. I meet friends, I spend hours on the internet, I do the occasional laundry, I watch films, and tv shows I meant to catch up on, I start and don't finish diary entries, I spend a little too much time napping while my cat is curled up next to me. I read, and read, and read. But mostly, I just seem to be sinking in to a weird half-life. Not quite alive at the moment. And I sure as hell don't write. I mean I think about writing. Every day I get up and it's pretty much the first thing I do. But I seemed stuck for ages in this writer's block, where everything I wrote seemed stale and ridiculous, and I lost all pleasure in it.
But today, for the first time in a while, I actually wrote. It helps that it's funny. I'm funny. Yeah don't look at me like that. Maybe not Tina Fey funny, but I get the job done, k? I set myself the task of writing something funny a while ago. By a while ago I mean 200-and frickin'-7. And I realised, if I never finished it, if I couldn't finish one damn novel that would mean I could never secretly inside my own head, call myself a writer (which is as far as it goes to me. I don't think I could pursue writing as a career, for various reasons, but it's still just an inherent part of my identity). And I may post it on here when I'm done, if it weren't for the fact that it was so damn silly.
And in other news I heart Kate Beaton's comics, which you can find here: beatonna and she's going to turn up here in March. It's almost hysterically easy for me to get to, what with it being my old university. And it's cheap! So hurrah etc.
So. Right now I'm in something of a quandary. In the past three months, I seem to have either made a series of really bad or really good decisions, depending on how you look at it (that's code for whether you listen to my mother or not. Can you tell I'm Asian yet?).
I sort-of quit my job, which I've mentioned on here before. It's a long story, involving my firm not signing a training contract with me for reasons of their own (though they kept assuring me of my intelligence and likeability, and I was all I have a Masters and friends TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW. Okay not really, but still) and me realising that I didn't want to be an accountant and it all coming together in a nice venn diagram, where the overlap = unemployed.
Then I decided I'd just chill for a while. I needed a bit of time off, to recharge and figure out what to do. That's just about when we entered this big-ass recession. That's when sensible-me (the super-ego I guess) stands to one side with an expression that seems to say "Way to go with the decision making twit-face". And also seems to be judging me on my outfits. Baggy t-shirts that advertise an aerobics studio that my mum went to in the early to mid nineties are comfy, yo.
But I digress. With a disturbed feeling in the pit of my stomach, I start to search for jobs. Shit, I think, all the deadlines for applications to law conversion courses? Passed. BBC Jobs? Ditto. Anything else I can damn well think of that I might want to do eg. psychotherapy, media jobs, anything, anything, anything? DITTO. And if the deadlines haven't passed, the vacancies just aren't there. Or they'll be bloody competitive Crap, I start to think. No wait, more like CRAP.
So now I'm stuck in a quandary. And then roseability_ asks me the magic question. 'What do you do all day?' she says. 'Write?'
To which I say HA. I do stuff sure. Sort of. I meet friends, I spend hours on the internet, I do the occasional laundry, I watch films, and tv shows I meant to catch up on, I start and don't finish diary entries, I spend a little too much time napping while my cat is curled up next to me. I read, and read, and read. But mostly, I just seem to be sinking in to a weird half-life. Not quite alive at the moment. And I sure as hell don't write. I mean I think about writing. Every day I get up and it's pretty much the first thing I do. But I seemed stuck for ages in this writer's block, where everything I wrote seemed stale and ridiculous, and I lost all pleasure in it.
But today, for the first time in a while, I actually wrote. It helps that it's funny. I'm funny. Yeah don't look at me like that. Maybe not Tina Fey funny, but I get the job done, k? I set myself the task of writing something funny a while ago. By a while ago I mean 200-and frickin'-7. And I realised, if I never finished it, if I couldn't finish one damn novel that would mean I could never secretly inside my own head, call myself a writer (which is as far as it goes to me. I don't think I could pursue writing as a career, for various reasons, but it's still just an inherent part of my identity). And I may post it on here when I'm done, if it weren't for the fact that it was so damn silly.
And in other news I heart Kate Beaton's comics, which you can find here: beatonna and she's going to turn up here in March. It's almost hysterically easy for me to get to, what with it being my old university. And it's cheap! So hurrah etc.