This may be just as well since my finances are not just broken but irretrievably shattered, ground to quantum redness. And I'm sick of it. I'm not the wreck I used to be and now there are people I'd like to meet. Typically they're all on the other side of the planet. But even to have enough cash to take myself to the ocean for a day would be superb. This isn't whining, by the way, it's just how it is. Or has been. Til I got sick of it. Really, really sick of it.
I don't think I'll ever cope with a 9 to 5 type set-up, heck, coming straight out of Uni into teaching I know laughably little about Other Jobs. And I still can't handle stress - answering phones or trying to book people into a Motel all strike me as being ultimate Life Mysteries and I'd be in a Tizz. If I waited tables I'd forget who wanted what and be more of a liability with the crockery than any place could handle.
Which is how I ended up in a sort-of interview with a very sweet man talking about poetry, education, the state of the cosmos and then being assigned a cleaning job. He said he would only be giving me "nice" jobs. He didn't see me as a vomit-maid, so nightclubs and pubs were off the list. True to his word I've been cleaning an already spotless solicitor's office for the last couple of weeks. I've moved on now to a potteries design company.
New skills acquired:
- dodge flying water because, oh, these taps work like that ... oops
- look like I know why the Dyson's in a million pieces at my feet
- stride boldly into the Gents' - smother everything with air freshener before even opening eyes
- order directors to "step away from the desk, Sir" and watch them flinch at sight of duster, polish and my eagle eyed glare that sees right through Important Papers to the ill-concealed coffee rings beneath
- graciously accept everyone's humble apologies for being in my way
I'll have to be careful, I'm in serious danger of quite enjoying it all *grin
