The Card

If I were a mortician my business card would so read: I see dead people.

It’s these dreams that keep the hope alive. Ironic much?

In Love

I have fallen in love with the Lindsay in Jail Twitter profile and, with treats like “Why do people keep sending me nail files? Do I look Vietnamese?”, who can blame me.

I really love it when you send me those emails, trying to sell me something, and you spell my name incorrectly.

Awesome first impression. Way to lay those relationship foundations.

The Darkness

I haven’t lost my way, I am presently going through something of a macabre phase. Think Sweeney Todd with a fastidious personal hygiene regime and without those nasty meat-pies-made-from-people.

My horrible, soul-destroying thought for the day:

Am I nothing more than mediocre?

Is this thought normal? Or am I thinking it because, in the darkest corners of my mind, I know I am mediocre?

I have worked, fairly successfully, from home for just under three years and - this year - something broke and it broke in a way that couldn’t be fixed.

I woke up one day and found it impossible to eat, sleep, work and play in the same space; and this left me tortured. I didn’t want to not work from home, I didn’t want an office, I didn’t - and I still don’t - want anything corporate.

It may sound melodramatic but I believed that I was the working from home poster girl. I thought that if I ever wanted an office it would have more to do with my ego than maintaining my sanity but, as I have discovered, it is presently all about the sanity.

I now have an office that’s not attached to my home and it’s nice. It’s sparse, the premises are an intermittent building-site and the Internet - or indeterminate lack there of - is frustrating me endlessly. On the positive side I have underground parking, a great view, a Nespresso and my very own whiteboard … yeeha.

Integrity

The luxury of the wealthy and / or the fearless.

I love stuff

My love affair with stuff is starting to feel very Capulet and Montague.

What a great story.

I’ve always thought - somewhat proudly - that I’m not for sale. That my opinions - good, bad or indifferent - belong to me.

I’ve always believe that I would sooner stop blogging than promote anything, to those I care about or those that value my opinion, that I don’t personally believe is worth promoting.

I sometimes wonder if the truth is really that I haven’t been offered the right price. I’m starting to think that we all have a price. Some of us are just cheap.