An explanation.

My journey into the dangerous trap of routine, self-loathing and crushed dreams began today. I started a full-time job. I guess they couldn't resist my enthusiasm and positive outlook on life.
The job is at a children's photography studio, tucked in the rear end (don't worry, I laughed too) of a Mothercare store, nestled in a Retail Park. The job mainly entails wondering around the store and in the nearby town centre, in order to book people in to have photo-shoot. The shoots only account for around 40% of the job, I've been told.

It's not like I don't enjoy the job - I do. And I know it could be a lot worse. It isn't the job itself that's the problem - it's simply the fact that it's not a job in writing.

It occured to me, as I wandered around the Mothercare store today, how much I really am itching to begin a careeer in writing. As I sat in the staff room, listening to other staff members complaining about their days off, I cried a little inside. I wondered around the store, listening to eerily happily lift music that almost made me feel  like I was on the set of one of those scenes in a film that exaggerates someone's boring working life (see: The Good Girl).

I kept wondering...what if I get stuck here? What if I get sucked into a dark retail hole? What if I spend my sixties saying 'I wanted to be a writer when I was a kid'?

Before you get pissed off at my stuck up way of explaining myself, let it be known I don't think that there's anything wrong with working in retail, unless you're me. I crave the opportunity to start my torturous career in writing because I have a writers' mind (albeit possibly not the vocabulary, yet). My brain is the most overworked of my organs. It never stops thinking, analysing, questioning and amusedly observing. Each and every encounter today left me reeling off an imaginary blog post or article introduction in my head. It was more painful than wearing new shoes the day I have to spend 12 hours on my feet at work. The second I got home, I ran to my laptop and poured my brain into this blog post. I felt the same relief as if I'd needed a wee for the past 10 hours, and just managed to get my trousers down in time.

My bright idea was to selfishly make a new blog and pass it off as an ingenious idea. I'm using this blog to hold onto as much sanity as a full-time job will allow. 'What will I get out of this then?' I hear you ask. Well, if you're in a job related to your chosen career, see it as a way to be smug about it, to revel in the knowledge that things could be worse. Compare your happiness with the frustrations of a writer trapped in the body of a 40% photographer. Enjoy!

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