Ah, shit. All I want to do is write. Unfortunately, I have to work, and I do hate that.
The fact is, right now I have to find work, and that's even worse. (Well, the comparison depends upon the job I eventually get, assuming I get a job. I always do, god dammit.)
All I really want to do is to read the newspaper, do some writing, have a cup of tea.... Go for a walk. Later in the day, do some more writing and work on some pages.... See some friends and maybe go out for a pint. Ah, there'd be nothing wrong with that.
Well, except it doesn't pay me any money. Not yet. And that's the only problem with it. Other than that, that's a picture of the good life. Throw in a few personal delights, and good health, and that's it.
But no, not yet. The best I can hope is a few minutes respite from the worry that always returns and erodes my concentrations. I know it's time to shower, shave, and go look for a job. When I get a job I will have to go to work almost every day, on the days and during the hours when somebody else wants me to be there.
Most people do it. Still, that doesn't make it right.
April 2004, Nijmegen The Netherlands