Ghastly
I’m fed up.I don’t know whether I’m just being a miserable bastard or have a right to moan but I’m going to anyway
I’m sick to death of having to eveything myself. I’m sick to death of never having anyone do anything for me for a change. I’m always putting myself out. I remember things that most wouldn’t – empathise where needs be – always a shoulder to cry on – not necessarily at the moment, but I’m always the one where people will find solace; the one who explains everything rationally; the giver of ‘mental freedom’ – a kind of ‘confessional’
I come home and I sit in a flat that’s half finished, piles of ironing everywhere, half-drawn – half-baked designs of rooms yet to decorate, a garden yet to renovate, boxes of newly arrived saucepans, tupperware boxes and plastic trays all over the fucking place – none of it finished.....none of it near-finished – just left. I haven’t got the energy to go through everything, with everyone, work, friends or at home.
And yet my time feels full of emptiness. Hours of nothing and yet I must be doing something because I’m always busy, usually doing somethign for someone else – another mission for me to solve cos no other fucker can be arsed to do it. I seem to be heading in some kind of direction – more than I’ve ever been before, but my goals disappear off into the distance twice as fast.
I wish I was more rude. I wish I could give people their fucking answer. Other people with less right to do it, so why not me? Why am I always the fucker to bite my tongue, or be the reluctant spokesman? Does no-one else have the balls?
I’m sick to death of living as a single person in a relationship. I don’t have the time or the energy to do that either. I’m sick to death of never knowing when my other half will drop in and then disappear again. I’m also expected to drop everything in between, which is usually the only time I get to do it, and then I feel bad as nothing gets done. I’ve just had a fortnight off ffs and I still feel as though I need to catch up.
When can I order a skip to pick up the pile of rubble I’ve now created in the garden? I can’t do it when they’re open as I work your lovely 9-5 and more shit and when are they open.....you guessed it. And that’s not because I live in the backwater that is Numpton.
I’m angry at myself for not having any inspiration of my own anymore. I’m waylaid with nonsense like ironing and organising a shitty barbecue thats turning into a cross between the feeding of the 5000 and a night at the Ritz. I’m sick to death of having no-one to sympathise with me as Nigel doesn’t do pessimistic – he doesn’t do depression and angst. I’m glad he doesn’t as I stray into those areas less and less, but when I do get there all I get is smiles and squealing, and I don’t need that – it makes me worse.
I need to feel like a human being again. I need a few of the trivialities like preparing an evenign meal, gardening, organising shitty skips and general chit chat removed, at least shared.
Am I the only sad wanker who works? No offence to people unemployed and struggle to find work, as I’ve been there myself – but am I missing something here? All this crap about being dejected as you waster your life away – jobless, careerless....I wouldn’t. I’ve got loads of things I could be doing if I didn’t have a fucking job. The only reason why I do it is because of the money....and now by 8th August I’ll be leaping into another fucking frying pan – more usless bastards – still have had no confirmation about the job offer – and I’m supposed to be leaving at the end of this month and Eith is getting all huffy about it.
I want to work but do something that I enjoy, something that I can put down and come back to with enthusism. As soon as my right to flexitime was pulled from under me by that fat old bitch I have become very very very anti work. I’ve been unhelpful, rude and slow. but only in my eyes. People just think I’m beeing moody.
I’ve had ppl ask to<
Last modified: Tuesday, February 17th, 2026 at 10:08am
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