Where, when and why?

I suppose that is a reasonable position to hold being a 34 year old bruised humanoid.

I start in the morning looking in the lonely mirror and scanning my hands with my tired eyes. Things are not all that bad in reality but reality may be a flawed concept.

Disney told us to accept nothing less than greatness and the turn of the century led us to believe that success was a human right. Now I see success as a goal, survival is the aim but the only things that can be taken as a given are taxes, idiots and death.

I am moderately successful in that I am 34, alive, have a rented bed to sleep in and a huge array of foods to choose from but I know this should be the minimum to expect given the opportunities available to me. I have always set my personal achievements low even though I knew I should aim higher. Where I am in the table is where I deserve to be which actually may be a bit harsh considering the last 6 years. That story will come later.

I sat yesterday in a new job, moved sideways to suit a prick in a suit who cannot look outside his own garden at the beautiful flowers beyond. The new job is boring, tedious, systematic and leaves no space for creativity. All the hard work, sweat and blood spilled in the previous 6 years left me where I was 6 years ago and I sat with one eye closed, one eye on the computer screens and a big question mark over my current position.

Then my phone vibrates and I see an e-mail about an exam completed more than a year ago for a job I had been doing for 6 years but for which credit had not come my way. Yahfuckinghoo! Was this a mistake, was this a day dream, was this a another cruel joke, another bruise for the humanoid. No, I slap myself in the face with water, get back to my desk and a second e-mail with an attached application form.

Caution goes with the wind, optimism and excitement fly with a kite to highs I revel in without taking a minute to anchor. This was an interview at best, not a job, not success. An opportunity which must be prepared for, as not to prepare would be a self inflicted bruise. I reach out to an old colleague, both in years and with the experience to really be of help.

I feel stoked, in the traditional sense, a dwindling fire fueled, not a surfer happy about the mundane.

This, my first post of many I hope, to be continued:

The next post may cover my pet difficulties, my love difficulties, my family difficulties but aren’t we all just humanoid with our own stories to share and bruises to swallow.


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