In which I hate the world and all its inhabitants.

I cannot begin to describe how utterly dejected, how completely down and at odds with the world I feel right now.

Actually, that's a lie. I can do it, because after all, this is nothing new. I've been at odds with the world since March 1982. I've been down and dejected since September 1993, when I turned up for prison duty at a school which still insists it doesn't have a bullying problem.

I know that most people have problems finding a good job. I do not, have never, expected employers to fall at my feet begging to employ me. I was hoping that someone might give me a chance. So far, the only person to do so is the editor of the local paper, and it was for no money. I appreciate I don't have much experience, but I have other skills and qualities to offer the world. Hell, I'm even personable and friendly when the occasion calls for it.

I had at least hoped that slogging my weasley black guts out for four years at university, dealing with an ever decreasing amount of money in the bank, pulling all-nighters for essays, might at least get me a job of some kind. So far: Nothing. Niente. Nada. Nitto. I'm not even setting my sights high. I'm not shooting for the stars. I'm not asking to be made Controller of the BBC. I know I have to start at the bottom. In fact, I think it's the best way one learns one's craft. Thing is, nobody will let me on the bottom rung at all. I've sent so many applications I can't even remember all of them. The ones that bothered replying at all have said 'no, you don't fit our criteria'. Basically, fuck you very much, but no thank you.

To compound all of this, I don't even want to be a fucking journalist. I hate it. I want to sing for my supper.

Of course, I have even less experience of that. I haven't sung to people since I was in California, and that was essentially in front of the rest of Club SO.

I've always daydreamed of being a singer or an actress or something like that. I'm not alone in that, but I may be alone in knowing how hard it is to get there. I'm not expecting to be raking in millions by Christmas. I don't want to be. I just want to do something I love. I haven't ever been able to imagine living an ordinary life. Not ordinary at all. I used to think everyone thought like that, but it turns out that I was wrong. Some of my friends never dreamed of living an unordinary life. They're probably a lot happier than I am though.

I am so tired of living in my dream world. I'm tired of populating my life with dead people who cannot help me, cannot speak to me and probably wouldn't want to if they were alive and kicking. But you see, I have absolutely no idea how I'm meant to make the transition from dreams to reality. I really don't. I really, really don't. How do you do it? I really need someone to help me, because for the first time I've got absolutely no idea  how to do it. All I know is that I want to spend my days travelling the world singing with a band. I don't have a band and it's entirely possible that I can't sing.

I can't live an ordinary life. I'm not slagging off ordinary lives. On the contrary, I think they're probably great things. But I can't live an ordinary life. Which leads to the question: what the fuck do I do about getting to the unordinary?

Oh, I got my results back. I passed my MA. Just. Big fucking whoop. People still won't want to employ me.

I can't live an ordinary life. The world sucks and the universe sucks harder. Fuck it all.

In which I hate the world and all its inhabitants.

I cannot begin to describe how utterly dejected, how completely down and at odds with the world I feel right now.

Actually, that's a lie. I can do it, because after all, this is nothing new. I've been at odds with the world since March 1982. I've been down and dejected since September 1993, when I turned up for prison duty at a school which still insists it doesn't have a bullying problem.

I know that most people have problems finding a good job. I do not, have never, expected employers to fall at my feet begging to employ me. I was hoping that someone might give me a chance. So far, the only person to do so is the editor of the local paper, and it was for no money. I appreciate I don't have much experience, but I have other skills and qualities to offer the world. Hell, I'm even personable and friendly when the occasion calls for it.

I had at least hoped that slogging my weasley black guts out for four years at university, dealing with an ever decreasing amount of money in the bank, pulling all-nighters for essays, might at least get me a job of some kind. So far: Nothing. Niente. Nada. Nitto. I'm not even setting my sights high. I'm not shooting for the stars. I'm not asking to be made Controller of the BBC. I know I have to start at the bottom. In fact, I think it's the best way one learns one's craft. Thing is, nobody will let me on the bottom rung at all. I've sent so many applications I can't even remember all of them. The ones that bothered replying at all have said 'no, you don't fit our criteria'. Basically, fuck you very much, but no thank you.

To compound all of this, I don't even want to be a fucking journalist. I hate it. I want to sing for my supper.

Of course, I have even less experience of that. I haven't sung to people since I was in California, and that was essentially in front of the rest of Club SO.

I've always daydreamed of being a singer or an actress or something like that. I'm not alone in that, but I may be alone in knowing how hard it is to get there. I'm not expecting to be raking in millions by Christmas. I don't want to be. I just want to do something I love. I haven't ever been able to imagine living an ordinary life. Not ordinary at all. I used to think everyone thought like that, but it turns out that I was wrong. Some of my friends never dreamed of living an unordinary life. They're probably a lot happier than I am though.

I am so tired of living in my dream world. I'm tired of populating my life with dead people who cannot help me, cannot speak to me and probably wouldn't want to if they were alive and kicking. But you see, I have absolutely no idea how I'm meant to make the transition from dreams to reality. I really don't. I really, really don't. How do you do it? I really need someone to help me, because for the first time I've got absolutely no idea  how to do it. All I know is that I want to spend my days travelling the world singing with a band. I don't have a band and it's entirely possible that I can't sing.

I can't live an ordinary life. I'm not slagging off ordinary lives. On the contrary, I think they're probably great things. But I can't live an ordinary life. Which leads to the question: what the fuck do I do about getting to the unordinary?

Oh, I got my results back. I passed my MA. Just. Big fucking whoop. People still won't want to employ me.

I can't live an ordinary life. The world sucks and the universe sucks harder. Fuck it all.

Feeling better and a couple of rants.

First off, I must say a huge, sincere thank you to the wonderful people who replied to my fuckwit moment yesterday. You all made some great points and reminded me of things I already knew but refused to believe. It is true that I am my own worst enemy at times, and I'm glad you're here to remind me of that when I need it. Thank you my darlinks. *hugs*

Feel better anyway. Went to Jobcentre to sign on for unemployment and found out I'll have to sign off for the three whole days I'm in Ireland. Wouldn't be a problem if I were going to Belfast. Damn you Collins and your fecking Treaty! (That was most wholeheartedly a joke. I have a weird sense of humour. I am fully in favour of Irish independence. As you were).

Had filling done at dentist, but this should be my last visit for a bloody long time. While I was there I picked up Esquire because it said it was the Music Issue. They called Thin Lizzy 'casual misogynists'. Exsqueeze me? Baking powder? Since when does writing songs about a certain sort of person (cowboys, gangsters, the like) make the band misogynists? Writing about a certain kind of woman does not make a writer a misogynist. In fact, Philip Lynott, as far as I'm aware, hate women. Shagging groupies does not make a bloke a misogynist. I don't agree with everything that man ever sang about, not least his something casual acceptance of drug use, but I think it's going a bit far to call the man a misogynist. Being a wanker doesn't make one a misogynist, otherwise every bloke on the planet needs to check himself.

Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that being dead leaves one open to total character assassination. You would've thought I learned my lesson with the destruction of Jim, but there I go with my misplaced trust in humanity once more.

And the crowning fuck-up of all? I just got Empire for next month and it has more pics of The Aviator. Now you're all aware, I'm sure, that I'm not in favour of Jude Law playing my most beloved of wankers, Errol Flynn. I'm not in favour of Kate Beckinsale playing the divine Ava Gardner either (she lacks both the goddess-like beauty and foul-mouthed fire) either, but at least she more or less looks the part. They've given Errol blond hair. I swear to God. Have these people never seen a picture of this man before? His hair was pretty light in The Adventures of Robin Hood, but not fucking blond. This is a Martin Scorsese movie with a budget equal to the GNP of Bolivia! All they had to do was spend $5.99 on a glossy 8x10 of Errol Flynn from MovieMarket.com! It's sloppy, lazy and frankly they should've done better. I was really looking forward to this, despite the Not-Errol... now I'm going to be sat there nitpicking the whole bollocking time.

See, I clearly have my priorities straight.

Feeling better and a couple of rants.

First off, I must say a huge, sincere thank you to the wonderful people who replied to my fuckwit moment yesterday. You all made some great points and reminded me of things I already knew but refused to believe. It is true that I am my own worst enemy at times, and I'm glad you're here to remind me of that when I need it. Thank you my darlinks. *hugs*

Feel better anyway. Went to Jobcentre to sign on for unemployment and found out I'll have to sign off for the three whole days I'm in Ireland. Wouldn't be a problem if I were going to Belfast. Damn you Collins and your fecking Treaty! (That was most wholeheartedly a joke. I have a weird sense of humour. I am fully in favour of Irish independence. As you were).

Had filling done at dentist, but this should be my last visit for a bloody long time. While I was there I picked up Esquire because it said it was the Music Issue. They called Thin Lizzy 'casual misogynists'. Exsqueeze me? Baking powder? Since when does writing songs about a certain sort of person (cowboys, gangsters, the like) make the band misogynists? Writing about a certain kind of woman does not make a writer a misogynist. In fact, Philip Lynott, as far as I'm aware, hate women. Shagging groupies does not make a bloke a misogynist. I don't agree with everything that man ever sang about, not least his something casual acceptance of drug use, but I think it's going a bit far to call the man a misogynist. Being a wanker doesn't make one a misogynist, otherwise every bloke on the planet needs to check himself.

Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that being dead leaves one open to total character assassination. You would've thought I learned my lesson with the destruction of Jim, but there I go with my misplaced trust in humanity once more.

And the crowning fuck-up of all? I just got Empire for next month and it has more pics of The Aviator. Now you're all aware, I'm sure, that I'm not in favour of Jude Law playing my most beloved of wankers, Errol Flynn. I'm not in favour of Kate Beckinsale playing the divine Ava Gardner either (she lacks both the goddess-like beauty and foul-mouthed fire) either, but at least she more or less looks the part. They've given Errol blond hair. I swear to God. Have these people never seen a picture of this man before? His hair was pretty light in The Adventures of Robin Hood, but not fucking blond. This is a Martin Scorsese movie with a budget equal to the GNP of Bolivia! All they had to do was spend $5.99 on a glossy 8x10 of Errol Flynn from MovieMarket.com! It's sloppy, lazy and frankly they should've done better. I was really looking forward to this, despite the Not-Errol... now I'm going to be sat there nitpicking the whole bollocking time.

See, I clearly have my priorities straight.