Stupid cluck that I am, I turned down a job offer last week. It was in Sabotage on Drury Street. Although it sounds like a foolish move, I seriously disliked it. I’m not one for getting into dressing rooms and telling people they look great or otherwise when I’m really not arsed about the appearance of people I don’t know. How people wish to dress is their choice and I certainly wouldn’t want some shop assistant getting nitty gritty with me behind a velvet curtain…that sounds a bit wrong. Anyway, unfortunately for me, that means I’m stuck in the bookshop with a lady who wants to be my bestest chum one second and Ares God of War the next…if only she was as attractive as Kevin Smith, hamana-hamana….No! Back to the point-I can’t have that! How dare she toy with my emotions…especially not with schoolbooks looming…oh. dear. god. the. horror…the…horror!!!
After consulting the fairy cards I indulged in last week, I was told that a new career and a new home lie in wait for me very soon. I should bloody hope so!
The thesis is officially going to be the death of me. Tuesday is the deadline, it will all be worth it just to see how far I get in defining Batman as an existentialist character and if I manage to score an honour in as little time as possible…anything’s possible righ!!!
The toil-Oh! I mean joy (damn Freudian slip)…of the thesis has officially begun. I created 2,000 words last Tuesday which I emailed to my supervisor in the hopes of getting his approval…and some sleep. I desperately need sweet slumber…like an alcoholic needs Jack Daniels and Coke. Since getting up early to work on said thesis, I find that my body clock has decided (all on its own!) that it will no longer let me sleep past 8 in the morning. Horrible…jus-just horrible! I seem to be anticipating failure, even though I do want to do well. I even went as far as to purchase a satchel of Guatemalan worry dolls two weeks ago, to lighten my exquisite load. If anyone is in doubt of what these creations are, they are tiny (you can get bigger, but I’m cheap) wooden figurines, with painted expressions and little outfits. And as I pointed out to a little girl (or rather, her patronising mother) who was standing next to me, pointing and laughing when I was buying them, they are not ‘golly dollies for big girlies’…in the words of this little dumpling’s dipstick of a mater. The Guatemalan people tell the dolls their worries and place them in the little drawstring bag that they ‘live’ in, they place the bag under their pillows and in the morning the dolls are said to have taken their worries away.
Since buying these dolls, not only have I decided to take more creative past times upon myself (I bought a canvas and randomnly began to paint upon it -surprising…no -instead of doing work) but the nauseating stream of pain that was previously lodged behind my eyeballs, has now worked its way up into the crevices of my brain and ransacked all my memory of what existentialism is all about…needless to say, the dolls don’t work. Admittedly, it is down to my abundant skills in procrastination that are the real culprits for my lack of academic sobriety. I’m finding it difficult to care about my appearance (as anyone in the real world who actually knows me will attest to), and my diet has taken a severe demotion. This will all go away in due course and I will be my happy, healthy self once more….blehhhhh…
I am also in the process of searching for a new job. Today in work, I walked in behind the counter and almost had an epileptic seizure. There…on the floor…amidst the piles and piles of dusty boxes…there lay an ominous school book list (cue dramatic shrieks that seem to come from nowhere). I cannot begin to explain the fear and panic that seized my spinal cord and shook my brain…that was actually when I repeatedly banged my head upon the counter and screamed “WHY GOD….WHHHYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?”. Then my boss said, “Michelle, it’s only a piece of paper”…which of course put everything in perspective for me. I think it says a lot when one knows they would enjoy reading AND(!) deciphering J.R.R Tolkien’s books, including ‘The Children of Hurin’, rather than compile a list of books that will neither educate nor put manners on the dregs of society…I mean, your little darlings ))….Grrrrrrrr…..scowl!