Wednesday, 27 May 2015

From the outside, it was a stupid decision.

Who, in this economic and political climate,

would deliberately give up a well-paid job with no idea at all of what to do next?  A fucking idiot, that's who.  Oh, and this job, it was no ordinary job, it was one I'd worked at for sixteen years, right from the start of the company.  Just two people, the owner and me.  For about the first twelve years I didn't exactly make a lot of money (I remember one month it was £200 - before tax) but that really was because we couldn't afford to take money out of the business.

But we got there in the end and for the last three years or so, we finally decided we were in a position to take a decent-ish (and I'm not even talking big money, about £30K/year) salary out of it.  So why quit now, of all times?  It makes no sense.

Did I do the right thing?  What even is the right thing?  What will I do next?  Will it be the right thing?  Will I recognise it when I see it?  I don't know and as I've mentioned, I don't edit much either so I'm sure I'll contradict myself plenty as I go across this thing again and again until everyone's either stopped reading or dropped dead.  That's why there's so much rubbish in this.  So many wasted words.  Why, just one of those words, to choose one at random, let's say "fucking", that word, that could fucking feed an African child for a year, that could.

Oh I don't know.

I'll go as far as to say that I think if I hadn't stopped when I did, I'd not only have fucked myself up even more but could have potentially fucked the whole company.

[Edit @ 22/09/2016:  I think this is where things start to go a bit awry.  The intention of the whole thing was to attempt to document what the fuck was going to happen to me - certainly that's true - but more to the point it's possibly where some of the posts could be described as "feeling sorry for myself", which is never a good look.]

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