Look at that for an unhealthy sized gap in the middle of the web log, and just as it was looking like I’d got the hang of it and everything. I have my excuses, and I could even go ahead and make some of them, but to be honest I’m far, far too lazy.
I’ve been having long discussions over my work email system for the last week about something that is apparently common to everyone of a certain age - that’s between the ages of about 23 and 28. We’ve decided, because we’re very clever and like to give things names to make them sound important, to call it the quarter-life crisis, assuming that we get to live to the age of 100.
The main symptoms of this are, as far as we can work out, the crushing realisation that your dreams will never come true, your ambitions will not be achieved and your job is not the stop-gap to the creative dreams you’ve always harboured. This state of mind is complicated with the realisation that you’d quite like a mortgage, a car and even one of this spouses that everyone seems to be getting for themselves these days. I have even been talking about when to start my collection of cats.
In an attempt to rail against the inevitable, I have chucked in my job, and handed in notice of my resignation at Morton Fraser. Again. This, for the people out there keeping notes, is the third time I’ve quit this job, and goddamn it this time I mean it. They’ve accepted too, so that means in 23 days time I’ll be unemployed, foot loose and fancy free once more.
With absolutely no money. I’ve looked in to it, and apparently, piece for piece, I’m worth exactly $1,592,050.00. If you’re curious, find out what you’re worth here.
On another note, my mother last night booked my plane tickets to fly home over Easter. I’ve got a 1 in 105,195,458 chance of dying on this flight. I’m big in to numbers today, me.
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