Gloomy Sunday.

Yep, like Billie Holiday said, Sunday is Gloomy.

It’s Sunday and even though the sun is out and there is a cool breeze blowing, it’s a gloomy day for me right now.

You ever have one of those realisations that you just aren’t good enough? Probably, right.

Yesterday i had that. In fact i’m still having it.

My book hasn’t gone the way i had hoped it would. It’s basically shit. SO that has put into question my ability as a writer.

My work life: I work a job i hate in an industry i hate with people that, the more time i spend there, the more they all start to irritate me. I tolerate them. Same as the people i work for.

You see i work for a security company and work at a shoe shop in London’s Mayfair.

tolerate;
‘tɒləreɪt/Submit
verb
1. Allow the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one dislikes or disagrees with) without interference’

So when i say i tolerate it i don’t mean that in the good way we all seem to talk about tolerance these days. I mean that i hate the shit that goes on but i deal with it anyway. And over time it just builds to a point where i can no longer deal with it. I start to hate it. The work, the place, the people. They irritate me on a daily basis. It could be because the one thing they all have in common is fashion. Fashion to me, is utterly pointless. I’m not talking about the simply stuff, like me wearing jeans with holes in the knee and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt here. But what is commonly called High Fashion.

High Fashion, just the sound of it makes my skin crawl, like being referred to as high means that it’s better then everything else. Where in fact the high is just a reference to the price. Though i’ve come to understand that those that spend six to seven-hundred quid on a pair of poorly made shoes do, honestly think that they are better then you. To them you might expect me to say “Fuck You, whore bag!” but no. What would be the point, they’d just look at me and think, “Ur jus well jeal”. (They don’t speak like the rest of us, they have this, Kardashian language, that doesn’t use grammar the way we all use it), so you might not understand it. IF you don’t like it, you’re supposedly jealous of it. To that i just say, “Sure, okay” because what would be the point in saying anything else, it would be like trying to explain to a devout christian that god doesn’t exist.

Clouds are rolling in – Nirvana – In Utero is spinning, my window is open and i’m getting a bit chilly.

I don’t care for these people,: The ones i work for, with, or around.

My home life is so much different. No it ain’t, not really. I hate that too. Feel like i’m stuck, unable to get out of a dark cave which i just keep falling deeper and deeper into.

Why the fuck did i start writing a book that i thought would be easy to write. The problem is, that it was to easy, because it was too simple. Maybe i can’t write anything more complex.

Maybe i should just stop trying to write a novel.

Some of you are probably saying to yourselves, “Well, get another job”. Yeah, like it’s just that easy.

You see, i have nothing, i’ve been doing security for the last nine years, it’s all the experience i have. I’ve been applying for jobs in fields i would rather do for years, and i always get the same shit back, ‘Not experienced enough’, ‘People with more experience have applied so we aren’t taking your application any further’, Or i get no reply at all.

All this helps to reinforce that notion that, i’m just not good enough. And that i’ll be a security guard the rest of my life. Which is the biggest factor in my fucking depressed state of mind. That knowledge that i might be doing this for a long time. It sometimes makes me want to just end it, be done with it, get out of this bullshit life. This wasteful existence.

I’m done, i can’t write this shit any more today.

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