All at sea…

… but not in a boat.

Yesterday I suffered one of those dark days. The days Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s described as ‘the mean reds, suddenly you’re afraid but you don’t know what you’re afraid of.’ Her advice is to hop in a cab and go to Tiffany’s, however, I don’t live anywhere near a Tiffany’s and I’m pretty sure if I did I would just wonder listlessly around the jewellery section, my tears and snot gently dribbling down onto the display cabinets full of beautiful diamonds I’ll never be able to afford because I’m poor and always will be because I can’t get a mother fo’ing job, until a security guard kindly but firmly leads me away from the shiny (and now moist) cabinets and out of the premises.

So in the fortunate lack of a Tiffany’s in Bristol (and after two tearful phone calls to my mother… and one to my sister) I decided to head down to the Arnolfini Gallery as I have recently applied for a job there which I would be simply brilliant at. I splashed out on a little treat too – a bus ride down to the harbour side, which at £2.30 for a single is a splash in my opinion, plus I nabbed the best seat in the house – bus – the very front seat on the top deck. Which is usually great for people watching, today however, the rain had somewhat steamed up the massive window and caused a leak through which rain water could flow quite freely into the bus. I got off that bus more damp than I would have been if I’d have just walked in the first place.

The Arnolfini was a lot dryer, and thank fully quite devoid of people, which is good because I don’t like them. It was a pleasure to wander round the exhibitions and swap my day time TV routine for something rather more cultured and inspiring but I’m afraid it didn’t alleviate my mean reds. I’ve taken quite a knock recently and no matter how often I listen to early naughties classic Aaliyah’s ‘Try Again’, dusting myself off and trying again is not as easy as she makes it look. Perhaps I need backing dancers…

And like Aaliyah I too have tried wearing pleather trousers – now that was hard to come back from. But God knows if I can come back from that, I can bloody well dust myself off and try to get a job again. It just feels like every time I do have the chance of getting a job there’s something wrong with it, like it’s a great job but it would be a 90 mile round trip every day, or the salary doesn’t cover living, or I’d have to have the soul of an evil harpy to do it because it’s Door to Door sales.

I think the only thing that’s going to make me feel better is resume my employment campaign with renewed gusto tomorrow (and snacks, many snacks), hold auditions for my backing dancers (I was thinking like four minimum) and bring ‘my babies’ (Sweet Peas) inside because I think this weather will kill them and if I’ve learned anything from Chris’ grandma it’s that fragile things are happier indoors…

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