Tuesday, February 20, 2007

I don't know if it was the sleeping pill, obs! singular, or the first day back in my own private hell which sparked today off.

Waking up and for about three hours it was a negative state. Happiness was something which tried to shine it's light. But my mind refused to let it in. Like a rejection from a heart transplant, happiness was squeezed out by the narcosis of negativity.

But being a little bit more forward thinking and busy took me slowly forward. The depression seeped out of me with the passing cloud shadow of anger filling the landscape for a while before the sun began to warm the patchwork country which is my rolling existence on this mortal coil.

Just like my daughter I can be angry and slow to wake up in the first place. Eva cries for the happy warmth of bed and dreams and needs her time there to grow and deal with the day. Pappa cries for the warmth of bed and dreams.....but need some time for the half-night mares to work their way out. When I refer to earlier dreams in current waking nightmares I know that there are some complex sub cosnious rivers flowing into the great missisippi delta of my stupidity. SOme toyuing irony that part of me, or whoever, chooses to refer back to dreams to make the current one into a hellish passing reality.

I'll put it down to the zopiklone but I know that this is something I can't fix alone.


Monday, February 19, 2007

Sitting here with a few minutes to go before I go to the wee ones coffee party.

It is crap being back at work. Weird and crap. This reminds me only of the one time before when I did not get "made" after a trial contract. But now i have the sleeping pill sickly dizziness and my specs are sitting oddly so the whoel world has a slightly narcosed nightmare feel about it.

I don't really know why I was sacked other than the bosses didn't like me much. Pretty much as before- a project going bad and me in the centre with no blame, but getting it in the neck. Things that would have gone unoticed get put under a badly focused microscope and blown up into bugs ad potnetial infections which the department wouldb't want.

This all sucks a lot. It means that I have to try and be positive about being a slacker and a failure - for no good reason other than I moved country and the boss didn't like me. Now I see myself as those coffee house servitørs who are bitter and avoid treating you like a human. They talk loud through you and are on to the next customer. They too failed, but a liking for mochiatto and a slightly gay look got them a slacker job workign lates on pier 7's cappacino corner.

But being a slacker isn't so bad. It means I join the "dont' give a fuck" masses of uinderpaid, undertrained workers. Maybe I'll build some key competances in this slacking career and get promoted.

I feel sick- too much coffee. Now off to a coffee party, may as well go the whole way. Sick more that the little tongues have wagged "how brave he is to be back after we stabbed him in the back, what stregnth to come and watch the others make application to his job, fighting over the cadavre while my own sorry carcass wanders off into obscurity. " TO think of all the useless hours I plugged into the job. The next time it's strictly nine to five and save up some flexitime.

so last stares out at the bare sycamores and the blocks out in this suburb. Boring, bored, cut off and depressed.

so i wonder off down the road to get my kid and wonder who the hell I am anymore other than 'pappa'. Your daddys's a slacker, a failure.