I've started assistant-editing the culture section of Blogcritics.org under a semi-sobriquet that looks more and more like a sobriquet for 'pussy' the more I look at it. It gives me something to do in the afternoons at work when I'm tired of emailing other bored office workers about how bored we are, and it teaches me things about editing, electronic publishing and how weird people think.
Also, my analyst told me ages ago, when I was voicing discontent with my company's mandate, that I should play little games to make it more fun for me until I was ready to quit. So for awhile, every day I'd put words into my articles no one in my industry could reasonably be expected to know, like 'pullulate' or 'pyroclastic,' and wait for my editor to bring it up with me. That stopped being fun when he never did. So now every week I'm looking at one of the nasty advertising things I have to write about for work and then writing something nasty about it on Blogcritics.
The truth is I want anything I can call preparation for a new job. I want a new job so bad, and I can't really leave this one yet, because I want to save some money and then look for work in an E.U. country Figaro's teaching license is recognized in and where I can get some good fucking baking, warmer fucking winters and prettiness, or save some money and start a doctoral programme in such a country if that's how the cookie crumbles. And because I want to have enough time in my present role to brag on a resume that I'm not a big fat quitter. Now you know the base discontent frying the ass of Mistress La Spliffe.
I've hated my company's mandate since I started working for it, but I liked the conditions and the substance of my work, which is researching and writing: two of my favourite non-putting-things-into-me activities. But hating the mandate has slowly extended to hating going to the office in the morning, and hating staying there.
Ah, it's a naughty world.