Ode to albatrosses

"We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to." -- W. Somerset Maugham

Due to the reintegration on myself back into the working world and out of the rather comfortable realms of unemployment, I will neither be writing because I want to or have to. Possibly an update or two will be sporadically forthcoming, but generally I shall be too damn busy and tired. Working life; it sucks.

Wednesday saw me rushing to Eldon Square to purchase work tops, shoes, and black trousers. Who knew it had been so long since having a proper job (two month nanny escapade not included in this category) that I’d long since lost those few vital things? And I swear those trousers have SHRUNK since I last wore them; I have NOT gained that much weight.

So tomorrow at the completely unreasonable time of nine am, back into the employed masses go I. For two whole weeks. Strange, I’m sure you’re meant to have jobs for longer than that. Whatever, it’s a fifty hour week, though there are only two of them, and I’ve got to wear black and white, and find my make up. It isn’t that I haven’t been wearing make up these last few… months, it’s simply that if left to my own devices I’ll live on a diet of eye liner, mascara, and tinted lip balm. Clubs require more of course, but only really in the way of glitter. For work, that just won’t do.

So, against my lazier judgement, and in screaming opposition to my body clock (make up means getting up at least half an hour earlier than were I slapping on the essentials and running), tomorrow I’ll be waking up at SIX THIRTY in order to enjoy the effects of foundation (grrr), blusher, highlighter, lip stick and gloss, and possibly concealer. It also means digging out some socks; apparently flip flops aren’t appropriate footwear. And, oh god, styling my hair.

It isn’t that I think of these things as pointless. Really, I more than understand the effects of adding them, and also the effects of simply not bothering. It’s just that they’re such a bloody hassle. Men have it easy; women can’t get away with not doing them. Even for the lucky few who look great with or without the pampering, it’s still a form of armour, and of pride.

I should stop complaining. I need this otherwise I’ll never be able to buy the laptop I decided would be bought with this summer’s earnings. The money I got from Germany was spent almost as soon as it was made on clothing, jewellery, and a smoothie maker which I haven’t actually used yet. So now I have to do this or live with the guilt of wasting a whole summer.

Meh. Responsibility, goals, all that jazz; it all sucks.

Labels: Work ethic