Where does the time go? More to the point where has my zest for this trip gone? I’ve spent the last few weeks desperately trying to stay away from drinking, getting a clean bill of health from the liver people, and then subsequently launching right back into the old ways. I dressed as a vampire at the weekend, and a comment was passed that my skin was better for being off the booze. I was wearing a light dusting of max-factor porcelain foundation. I wish I could wear it all the time. Women have it easy.
I’ve finally left Budapest, after what is always going to be a difficult month. Mums birthday and dads day of passing just 48 hours apart, and now approaching the two-year anniversary of mum leaving us. It doesn’t feel right for spring somehow. Not that we’ve seen a spring anywhere mind, although as I look out of the window in weak Vienna sunshine, salvation could be at hand. Summer is finally coming.
Over the past few weeks I’ve been actively looking for work during said summer. In an ideal world, I see myself a top a muscular horse on a ranch retreat, pretending I’ve been cast in Game of Thrones. The fields will be golden, the sky blue, and I’ll meet some lovely milk-maid in the land that time forgot. She’s the village beauty, courted by all, and I’ll breeze into town and whisk her into the hills, and we’ll make love by campfire on fake bear-fur rugs. In reality nobody has written back. The only concrete offer is for two weeks teaching kids English in Vienna at the end of July. With every passing day, teaching a language I still don’t fully understand becomes more and more unsavory, to the point of I’m beginning to wish I didn’t do the course in the first place. Sigh. I remember “winning” the “What Career” award in high school. It looks like old habits die hard. I wonder if India has an vacancies for an actorjournalistchefhomesupportchildcareenglishteacherelderlyworkerfarmhand? Maybe it’s about time I just became a drug mule. I reckon I’d do well as somebody’s bitch.
It’s time to turn South. I strike for Slovenia on the morrow.
Game of jobs
Where does the time go? More to the point where has my zest for this trip gone? I’ve spent the last few weeks desperately trying to stay away from drinking, getting a clean bill of health from the liver people, and then subsequently launching right back into the old ways. I dressed as a vampire at the weekend, and a comment was passed that my skin was better for being off the booze. I was wearing a light dusting of max-factor porcelain foundation. I wish I could wear it all the time. Women have it easy.
I’ve finally left Budapest, after what is always going to be a difficult month. Mums birthday and dads day of passing just 48 hours apart, and now approaching the two-year anniversary of mum leaving us. It doesn’t feel right for spring somehow. Not that we’ve seen a spring anywhere mind, although as I look out of the window in weak Vienna sunshine, salvation could be at hand. Summer is finally coming.
Over the past few weeks I’ve been actively looking for work during said summer. In an ideal world, I see myself a top a muscular horse on a ranch retreat, pretending I’ve been cast in Game of Thrones. The fields will be golden, the sky blue, and I’ll meet some lovely milk-maid in the land that time forgot. She’s the village beauty, courted by all, and I’ll breeze into town and whisk her into the hills, and we’ll make love by campfire on fake bear-fur rugs. In reality nobody has written back. The only concrete offer is for two weeks teaching kids English in Vienna at the end of July. With every passing day, teaching a language I still don’t fully understand becomes more and more unsavory, to the point of I’m beginning to wish I didn’t do the course in the first place. Sigh. I remember “winning” the “What Career” award in high school. It looks like old habits die hard. I wonder if India has an vacancies for an actorjournalistchefhomesupportchildcareenglishteacherelderlyworkerfarmhand? Maybe it’s about time I just became a drug mule. I reckon I’d do well as somebody’s bitch.
It’s time to turn South. I strike for Slovenia on the morrow.