In a funny mood for the last couple of days. Still no sign of the inheritance, and time marches on, effectively meaning that our collapsed house move and subsequent fuckery could potentially lead to rental in Exeter, and manifold disappointments therein. Hey, that is, as they say, how fucking life goes. I feel hard done by, I think it’s fair to say.
I am also entering a grand old funk about injustices in the workplace – either perceived or real. It dawns on me that in six years I’ve had two days of training, and would like some new skills in order to reignite interest levels that are basically on the floor. Meanwhile newcomers are being given hundreds of pounds’-worth of training and letters after their names that will mean increased employment opportunities. Meanwhile my manager sits on his arse doing nothing, but mainly because I can’t ask him for anything, as I have no goals to hit that I can’t already hit. I could volunteer to become an in-house videographer, spend six months and thousands of pounds on equipment, but there’s no drive for anything like this from the top, so why bother? Just rebrand fucking case studies and shut up, Jones. My career is effectively over, unless I radically change it.
So, what do I want to do? In the long-term, property management. In the short term, something creative and visual enough for people to be impressed by? Maybe. I envied Nick’s abilities on that video shoot, but most of his business is in London, and I don’t want to be based here, because (fanfare please) it’s a fucking shithole. Meanwhile Tam’s doing well, and is really respected and ensconced at the management level of the business, with all the attendant kudos that brings. Tony’s sitting at the end of these desks chortling to Chris about nothing whatsoever and I can’t fucking to listen to it anymore without wanting to walk out and never come back to any of this. It is, and always has been, utter bollocks.
I think a sabbatical might be in order.
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