Pressing matters

It seems desperately wrong to me, that shit jobs pay well, while rewarding jobs don't pay at all. Why is this? Some sort of fucked-up reverse logic seems to be in place in western society, whereby practically every young and talented individual has to work themselves into their incredibly bored graves doing something they don't want to do, because there is no other way to exist in a satisfactory way, doing what you really want to be doing. The big corporations obviously worked out long ago, that the way to keep the workforce sweet is to pay them just enough to keep them 'happy'. I don't want to be on this path, but it's the one I'm on, and I have to do something about it now before I die of boredom. It kills me to see all these young people being surpressed and squeezed of all their inspiration and energy. That for me is the worst thing, and it's making me really depressed. Being almost in tears at work is not a good thing, but it is indicative of where my mind is at present.

I really have to sort my life out.

This has been apparent to me for some time now, but I feel that now, what with the age that I am - THAT IS 28, BY THE WAY - that I should be pulling my 28-year old finger out of my 28-year old arse and doing something useful with my 28-year old self. I already have the horrible experience of having to jump ship from a very exciting and enjoyable architecture degree, due to lack of funds, well and truly behind me. I loved that course, and was good at it too, but sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles. So now that myself and the lovely Mrs L have, for the most part, sorted our lives out, left London, and are now back on dry land after almost drowning, it would seem to be an optimum time for me to get back on the old career-that-I-should-be-doing wagon. I'm sick of bundling from uninspiring job to uninspiring job. It's not what I'm cut out for. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do my job to the best of my abilities, and I feel proud that I can support us both while Mrs L studies her little socks off and gets her life back on track. But I need to be doing my own thing too. One good thing is that I have some time to play with now - seeing as my new working day ends at 3.30pm - so I intend to do some evening courses in computing, web designing, and the like. I shall also apply for the carpentry courses that I spoke about a while back. And some time in the not-too-distant future, I will get into counselling (I've joked about this before, but I really think I'd be great at it) as I truly belive that it's a vocation I would thoroughly enjoy. And as well as all of these things, I definitely want to go back to university and complete that blasted architecture degree.

It sounds like quite enough to be getting on with, and I'm not misguided enough to believe that it's going to be a quick and painless process, but it's what I want to do. And, well, bugger me if I'm not utterly determined to do it.

So wish me luck. I'm going to need it.

On a more light-hearted note, thankyou all for trying to guess (or calculate) my age. The winner is Paranoid Prom Queenie, who appears to be the only person who noticed that the 1977 in my email address might equate to my year of birth. So well done. Even if it did take you two attempts. Have a plate of fossilized gherkins!

And my dear Alda (hello to the Iceland blog crew!), your guess made me laugh, so help yourself to one as well. Although I have to ask; do I really come across as a 64-year old?

And Dad, I may look like a 12-year old, but in reality would a pre-teener be quite as hairy as me? I think not. So crap memory or not, you have failed miserably.

I'm going to toss this matter to the wind by quoting Bonobo. His succinct summation of my age made me laugh my arse off, but is also deep and thoughtful:

"..And age? What of 'age?' ..About the age that you feel in your heart when you shut your eyes and dream of the most powerful fantasies that your soul could possibly imagine; those hopes and fears you once experienced on the beach as a breathless laughing kid, with your childhood friends, playing in the rain, when you fell and grazed your knee or watched a horror film for the first time and couldn't stop letting your imagination run wild.. of flying your first kite upon a hill; a mountain; a great soaring peak or having your first kiss, of your first intimate moments..

All of these rolled into one great whole..

That's how old you truly are.

..alright then, 26 at a push?"

Or maybe not. And you got my age wrong you pillock.

Tomorrow I dish out awards. Be sure to come and watch the ceremony.