Warning: This post contains language of an adult nature
This has been coming for a while, for a long, long while. It’s time for me to move on. I’ve had it up to here with selling booze to people who would be better of without it. These people are fucking assholes, wankers of the highest order. I am not the ideal representative for the licensed trade. I’d get more satisfaction from making and selling cappuccinos and frappes to those who know what a real drink is.
I’m fed up with my job – not just in a general ‘pissed off’ way, but also at a deep philosophical level. Every time I head into work on a weekend evening, I feel a little bit of my soul die. I’ve mentioned elsewhere that there are certain aspects of my job that I do like: the food service end of things, that’s my forte. If I could condense my part-time situation to just lunch service, that would suit me. But I don’t know if that would suit my employers (who, don’t get me wrong, I like – regardless of my differences with them).
It’s the drunks I’m beginning to despise: the Nancies (not you, nrhatch), the Daves, the Christies, the Johns. For God’s sake, people, can’t you see what you’re doing to yourselves? Do you even give a shit? No? Then why the fuck should I? I’ve better things to be doing.
I’m beginning to believe that my current physical malaise has much to do with my emotional and spiritual well-being. When I’m in a ‘bad place’, I can’t write. And when I can’t write, part of my reason for living is put on the back-burner. That, for me, is not good enough.
Bob, you sing it so well, my friend.
What else would I do? I don’t know – but I will find something. I can investigate ways to make money from writing. Any tips?