But anyway, life is better. A hell of a lot better. I was just a bunch of cracked eggs, now I am omelette with extra cheese in the middle and everything.
I have left my job at the 'Well Know High Street Bank' (I am not allowed to give their name as I signed a 'Secrecy' Agreement meaning I can't go around telling everyone how shit aforementioned bank is in the public domain. But it is safe to say that everyone knows who they are because they seem to make the news every other day about something or other). It was, quite frankly, the shittest job I have ever been in, even beating my first job as scummy fitting room person at 'Well Known High Street Store' at the back end of 2005. The only saving grace being the colleagues, most of whom were a delight. Apart from that it was pure torture. A soul destroying, energy zapping, mood crushing pile of shite. Customers were either rude, obnoxious or thick, or a potent combination of all three. Shop workers were undeniably idiotic, especially weekend staff whose IQ hovered dangerously low towards single digits, and vastly unhelpful. The managers, bar a couple, were a bunch of halfwitted slow pokes who liked nothing better than to sit at their seats pretending to type or make important phone calls, when they were, in fact, on the phone to their parents/babysitter talking about bringing some fish and chips in for later.
I would have gone mad if I had stayed there. Mad being certifiably insane, and with a slight possibility of murder thrown in for good measure. I'm not a homicidal maniac, but some days I would sit and glare at my manager and wonder whether it was worth jabbing a pen into the side of his head, at least then there would have been one less oxygen thief in the world.
But I digress, I am out. Jumped ship. And now I have a month off before I start my new job at 'Well Known Insurance Company' in October. Probably be another banal and mind blending job, but it's better than sitting and picking my nose for the rest of my days. I think.
I just want a job in a fucking bookshop. That's my dream. A dusty old bookshop ála Black Books. But with a sober manager.
Being single has been odd to adjust to after over four years of seeing someone nearly every day. But alas, the dust has settled. I'm comfortable now, I've adjusted, admittedly still a little annoyed that I wasted so much time for nothing, but I am being all zen about this shit now. No point in being angry, just take a deep breath a carry on.
And on that floaty, somewhat meaningful note, I'm ending this. Too much ramble is rambly
