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Time to kill…

What’re the hours

Waking up is hard to do – especially when you have to get up and try to find a purpose to your life.  Knowing that nothing much will happen, not at all really.  You will spend hours sorting shit out, looking through even more shit that probably has nothing to do with improving you life or your situation.  Before this takes a turn for the depressing…

I find myself in the kitchen (sometimes in other peoples’) in afternoon soup making scenarios increasingly often these days.  What makes me wake up (yes I do still find purpose to my life!), spend several hours tirelessly trawling through, mainly unsuitable job vacancies.  It’s never as easy as in the films where you go through the classifieds section of the newspaper with a red marker pen circling things.  Then spending lots of time working on my CV, portfolio and shit online (things aside from Facebook, masturbation and procrastination, I know what you’re thinking!).  That then makes me want to make soup?!  French onion with sliced baguette and gruyere a week ago, winter vegetable a few days ago and carrot, lentil and coriander today.  Maybe it’s because it is the one thing that I have control over, where I get the desired end result and it’s food, comforting food at that.  I get to do something which I feel is rewarding, probably why I write this bloody thing.  Besides I make good soup!  Just in case you were wondering, that’s what people will be getting off me for Xmas.  Just remember – it’s DAMN GOOD soup!

Someone suggested I applied for a job as a receptionist the other day.  I mean really!  Me!  A receptionist?!  Well it isn’t far from my house, virtually no travelling distance.  Erm, maybe, not sure it would suit me though.  Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea after all…  Got me thinking of the closing scenes of Spinal Tap:

Nigel Tufnel: [on what he would do if he couldn’t be a rock star] Well, I suppose I could, uh, work in a shop of some kind, or… or do, uh, freelance, uh, selling of some sort of, uh, product. You know…
Marty DiBergi: A salesman?
Nigel Tufnel: A salesman, like maybe in a, uh, haberdasher, or maybe like a, uh, um… a chapeau shop or something. You know, like, “Would you… what size do you wear, sir?” And then you answer me.
Marty DiBergi: Uh… seven and a quarter.
Nigel Tufnel: “I think we have that.” See, something like that I could do.
Marty DiBergi: Yeah… you think you’d be happy doing something like-…
Nigel Tufnel: “No; we’re all out. Do you wear black?” See, that sort of thing I think I could probably… muster up.
Marty DiBergi: Do you think you’d be happy doing that?
Nigel Tufnel: Well, I don’t know – wh-wh-… what’re the hours?

The receptionist job did leave me thinking though, ‘what’re the hours?’

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Filed under: Film, jobs, Music, , , , , ,

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