One Angry Monkey

Having found myself at an impasse as to how to fill my time, I’ve turned to an old friend. You see, after moving house I have finally gotten things as sorted out as they can be without some new furniture (Do I just want the new furniture or do I need it? Brendan’s about the only person who reads this so I’m not telling.) The house is at a point now where it takes less than two hours most days to keep it clean and tidy. So I faced a choice - do I get a job or do I find other sources of entertainment?

The problem I have is that, with my level of education and at my age, about all I can get is a supermarket job. Been there, done that, still bear the emotional scars. I don’t like people, you see. Being stuck dealing with them day in, day out, and not be in a position to say the things which popped into my head was actually a form of torture.

Like the woman who was looking to purchase a little poultry. “Can you please open your thighs so I can see how big they are?” I kid you not. I occasionally (often) exaggerate or misrepresent things for comic value but she said exactly that. Not commenting on that actually caused physical pain.

So to stave off boredom (and protect my fragile mind from daytime TV) I find myself back in the tender embrace of an old lover. Writing. Problem is, I’ve got a style (and a face but that’s a different story) only a mother could love.

Oh well, at least it’s not fanfiction.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 28th, 2007 at 1:30 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.