I should be writing about the great trip I just returned from in America. About spending time with Richard and Merlin, two of my long-time bearfriends. About meeting up with robearal and Phil. About Barbeque and Botanical Gardens.
But I can’t.
Right now, the future past January looks bleak. There is no job on the horizon. I don’t have the right experience or live in the right place to even be interviewed. I can’t drive – DVLA has told me this on 7 occasions. The best I can look forward to is some clerical job back at around 30% of the wage I previously earnt. Selling the house. Selling off some of my worldly chattels.
Welcome to the real world, I hear you cry. You’ve been fooling people for too long into thinking you were capable. Well, they got someone in who realised how incompetent you are, and now you are going to suffer for all those years. Hell, you could be sleeping under bridges and eating out of soup kitchens next year. Everybody else you know earns less than you do, so you’ll have to manage. No more trips across the Atlantic. See how you like that. Serve you right for wanting it all. What is given, can very easily be taken away. And, buddy, it’s your turn. You are a lazy good for nothing wastrel who has been found out.
At least, that’s what I feel the world in general is saying to me right now.