I couldn’t blog yesterday. My confidence was at an all-time low.
It had been another bad day bellybutton fluff-wise and, having promised you all a bumper harvest, I couldn’t even bring myself to photograph the measly specimen.
I just can’t understand what’s happened. I think my bellybutton has been emasculated. Is that possible?
For certain, what hasn't helped has been the presence of hyper-manly men nearby, on the building site over the road.
Now and then I peek out of my bedroom window at the real men doing real jobs before shrinking back behind my net curtains and dolefully examining my body in the mirror.
Then this morning I had a brilliant idea! Why not get a job there?!
After all, have I not carried the weight of client expectation? Have I not shovelled barrowloads of clichéd prose? Surely this would be a mere trifle.
I skipped downstairs and over the road “Good day fine sirs!” I exclaimed to the group of burly types at the site entrance. “I wonder if you could use my services?"
There followed a rather confusing exchange. I can tell you I didn't appreciate the way they seemed to regard me. And many of my wittiest asides appeared not to register at all.
For a while I feared ANOTHER rejection. Then one of the big men thrust a hard hat and garishly-coloured vest at me and pointed me in the direction of a big heap of rather dirty looking soil.
Well, I tried. For several minutes I gave my all.
But a broken nail and hurty elbow soon told me that this sort of ‘menial’ labour is not for me.
I cast off the dreadful vest and hat and ran! For what? For freedom! For creativity! For me to be me, in all my glorious unemployed beauty!
Dear reader, I have never felt so alive. And now, back safe and warm in my room with my cardi on and a warm mug of Ovaltine, I feel more certain than ever of my destiny.
God has put me on this earth to sit in a warm and cosy office and push a pen around. I shall do this or I shall die trying! (Or, at the least, I shall sit alone in my bedroom blogging about it.)