Chalkboard.

Slid on a slush-puppie left from Mother Nature on the trudge home from the tube last night. First sight of London in 10 days, evidently missed.

My time at home (Manchester) threw one or two realities at me;

I drink 2 pints of skimmed milk a day. Minimum.
I can't stand eating alongside people who either chew with their mouth open or make a peep whilst chewing.
There's a group called overeaters anonymous. I should join. It's unnatural eating all this cereal & slurping all this milk.
My mother is a feeder. No joke. (I either blame her for or accuse her of all of the above)
Technology of the modern age is wasted on the majority of those aged 50+.

I'm being a negative nancy.

True friends are like family, but you can pick them. Rather than sour, shriveled blueberries whose taste can be sugarcoated temporarily (family party, once a year), my buddies are juicy, pack a punch and liven up an otherwise mediocre cocktail. Pals.

Mother is simply the nicest lady I've ever met. I could gush about her super-powers for a while, but that's a snore and to be honest she bugs the fluff out of me regularly.

I love tea. Northern tea. Last Tuesday I had 12 mugs, slip me on a building site.

Here's the quandary. I live in the capital & work as part of management in a retail environment. I'm not passionate about it, not by a long chalk. I'm energised by the branding, marketing and PR side of retail. I'm not sure how I've boxed myself off into this role. Like every Tom, Dick & Harry, I've done my fair share of internships. Most dire, some life enhancing and its those that fall into the latter that motivate me to carry on to achieve a f/t paid role.

THUD. I've gotten through to the final few in several prolific companies. Keep catching my ankle on the last hurdle. Must raise game.

I'm drained of energy, revenue and passion.

It's clear that if I were to undertake another unpaid internship I'd walk the next interview. Scratch cards aren't playing ball. Mothers bank balance is rouge tainted. Spiraling into retail disillusion.

I'm considering moving home. Bosom of the North. Re-think things; Centre my yang (?), escape to the country (ish) and admit defeat.

My mind resembles this, head/heart spiel;

I'd consider yoga to relax, but last time I went I got asked to leave (inflexibility is a distraction).

Manipulating the words slightly, I think David Attenborough is suggesting I move home, or become a nomadic herdsman;

'An understanding of the natural world and what's in it is a source of not only a great curiosity but great fulfillment'

Then again, I have read The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Life is heavy. But he was a bloody surgeon, at least that's a profession.

Fickle, me?