Yesterday was not a good day. Mostly because everything that went wrong could have been redeemed by a good hard run. I just couldn’t fit one in.
Firstly, I spent the day stamping people’s booklets at a fair. Now you would think this would be an activity people could manage on their own, but evidently these home and gift buyers are a violent lot and they had already broken four stamps. I was therefore charged with taking possession of the remaining mangled stamp (and covering myself in ink in the process) and preventing further damage by doing the stamping myself.
Is it any wonder we can’t solve serious problems like global warming and child poverty when the average intelligence doesn’t allow one to successfully manage a stamp?
Along with this inability to accomplish a simple mechanised device, comes a complete disinterest in working anything out for yourself.
“What do I do now?” they would ask, staring at me dumbly.
“Well Sir, I imagine you fill in your details, so you can be contacted in the event that you win, and then you drop your booklet in the GREAT BIG BOX RIGHT NEXT TO YOU THAT HAS A SIGN ON IT SAYING PLACE ALL ENTRIES IN HERE!”
So, after seven hours of donating my brain cells to undeserving members of the public, I headed to an audition hoping to just make the last time slot of the day. An hour and a half later, having gotten lost due to a technicality with the GPS, I arrived, and flustered and wet due to a sudden downpour from an unfair Mother Nature, auditioned well enough to be informed that in addition to it being a nonpaying gig, we would actually be asked to cover costs as well.
Just once I want a job with a salary, superannuation, sick leave. Plenty of people who can’t mange to use a stamp have one, what’s wrong with me?
I don’t want any of those jobs, that’s what’s wrong with me.
What I needed to do then, was go for a good long run and get away with crying as I’m convinced people will think my red face and eyes are the result of my incredible speed (see previous blog).
Instead what I had to do was front up to a dinner party and fake it till I made it. Luckily, I know these people very well, and a few choice swear words and a couple of stiff drinks almost made up for my missing run.
Today hunger won out over exercise and I fear that as tomorrow is move-in day, my marathon training is going to suffer again. I wonder if unpacking boxes and rearranging furniture counts as cross-training?