Like this, read that.
"My friend Matt said something the other day when I was talking about the Summer job I got...and abruptly quit doing. He said "I'd rather be poor and available than doing a shitty job and not able to shoot", which is exactly how I feel. I'd rather be in a rat infested squaller, but being creative and thoughtful and producing things, than be in a comfortable, adult place and not have time to do what I love." - Lucy Brown in London Town blog, you better read it.
I don't even know what the fuck i'm doing with myself, in my head i thought i would get some amazing job over the summer and be creating lots of things. The idea was to make a brand, but i can't even bring myself to blog or take photos or anything. I've got this job in telesales, and i'm not meant to write about it on the internet but i don't give a fuck, if i get sacked then good. I work 2pm-8pm which is alright, and its like 5 min cycle away which i can't complain. But this job actually makes me feel sick with myself, it isn't a con at all, like we are saving people money. But cold calling is horrible, i would never give my card details over the phone and the only people who do are old people which there i question my morals in life of having to take advantage of the elderly. I feel its like an insult to my grandparents, but they said a job is a job do what you have to do. But being there makes me feel uncomfortable being in my skin.
I took working in places for granted, like Fopp i had it so good there, everything i dealt with was something i was interested in. Surrounded by lovely things, HMV wasn't so nice, was all focus about money. Plus the people were tragic in that shop, by a small degree. And now this job, i just don't have the time to sit down and sort out shit. Or begin to draw or anything, i cycled back home with guilt and feeling unsure.
Last friday i went on a mad one, abit worrying actually. Like it was brilliant, but then yet stupid. If i'm going to write about this then i should just be honest. I don't care really, my name isn't on this blog and people who follow me know me whatever. Plus everyone has done drugs and denies it whatever, i'm an art student i will be cliche and typical, but what can you do.
This is bournemouth pier at night. I ended up on friday intentionally staying in and getting wonky, to going out to Dusk paying £8 to get in and walk right out of the club. Was awful, then bumping into an old friend. Who josh and i both knew, i knew Elsa from college and Josh knows her from Benicassiem however you spell it. Like it couldn't be any more odd, and bizarre that we all meet on the street at the same time.
So we formed troops and went to find cheap drink, all the clubs are so expensive i don't justify spending £4.00 for a shot and mixer, fuck that. So we went to golden supermarket my favourite off license always saves me. Then headed to Springbourne for a house party, haven't been to one in a month was starting to miss them. Was ridiculous though, massive house, sick decks and random people, made acquaintances with a crack head who dressed up smart because he could hear it down the street and decided to come. He had no front teeth.
Then went to xchange met some ridiculous people with base, 5am swimming in the sea, (i'm shorting this cos i'm laughing my head off on the phone with jayson to bobs burgers) And then had a fag with joe on mossytoe (the roof that we sit on.)
Any way yeah was swimming in the sea and under the pier, and i could see right to the bottom even when it was deep and all the crabs that were scuttling around.
We ended up at some gay made shag pad and he whipped out his sex swing. Was amusing.