MINGING, GOPPING, HANGING, LEAPING

Autobiographical

My new means of providing sustenance, shelter and material enjoyment is quite taxing, the place is kept warm, too warm. As a result I sweat like a beast in the mating season, I am damp with sweat, sometimes wet from Start to Finish every day. I must stink like nobodies business, the poor people who have to smell me. Twice this this week I have been forced onto public transport, due to either an unwillingness to sit in massive petrol queues, at least twenty cars long each with their mandatory social distancing in force, or the weather which wants to empty itself over me. I hate cycling in the wet, with my need for glasses only compounding that misery. Happily I got a decent sized amount of fuel just this evening, the queue was very small and only in the forecourt itself. Not half way up the bypass and buggering everything up as a result.

I criticised a man at the supermarket on the same journey, he had a several large trays of sickly looking Donuts telling him his rash behaviour would cause a national Donut shortage, people laughed. I have to watch my sense of humour, some people become aggrieved by it, mentioning things like the Spanish Armada or the Battle of Trafalgar to the Spanish. I just deleted a small chunk it did not fit and was irrelevant.

All in all I like my new and sometimes smelly new means of providing for my self, I try not to be too cynical about the people who live there, if not themselves, it is the system that has failed them. I am grateful for the steel toe boots I wear, I would hate to be wearing soft shoes in many of the places I tread. I regard each and every room as a potential health hazard, some of them more than others. Above all my empathy for other people has become more sensitive, yet at the same time more cynical. I like my place of work many many times more than that supermarket shop I worked in a few years ago. They used to put books in the fridges in that place and shit ran down the back wall from the turd lasagne’s in the men’s staff toilets. The toilets where I work are the cleanest in the whole damned city and I bet the county. I love cleaning toilets.

Staying up late (again)

Autobiographical

Sometimes I think whether my efforts as an artist are being wasted, so far in my artistic journey I have sold two paintings (one via auction, the other a commission) Went to art college for a year which was a horrible experience and rip off and found myself being encouraged to become the Treasurer of my local art group. The last I declined, citing University commitments and some other stuff. The good news is I have finally pulled my finger out, stopped trying to be perfect and just got on and worked. Real work seems to disagree with me, or I with it and after Seventy+ employers, I think it is time I worked for myself. The whole Covid business encourages this idea, I am hardly likely to scrounge a dose of it at home and I can drink tea or eat when I want as well.

Being self employed does mean I have to exercise self discipline, working even when I don’t want to. If I add school work to the mix, I should probably be quite busy. Not half as busy mind if I had to go out and work for some other bugger each day. Public transport gives me the creeps, buses are truly ghastly and incubators of all the terrible diseases. Safe to say I would rather take the car, cycle or walk to wherever it is I am supposed to be heading.

It would be nice to have a change and a move away from the laptop for a few hours each day. Do some painting in the daylight hours and migrate up here afterward, to type, edit and post. J goes to bed quite early and there will be no creaking as I trudge up the stairs at night. Speaking of which, I have to go put out the cat tray and make sure everything is locked up. It is getting to that time, where I must brush my teeth and go to bed.

Good night.