we're done here

Jack of all trades

And so it is that I am transformed with a speed that makes even my head spin, from temperamental artist into a property developer. It's weird. I simply seem to be programmed to do whatever is in front of me. Honestly, it would appear that I have the attention span of a gnat, or to put it in a more flattering light, and why not, after all it's my blog, I am highly "adaptable" - I swear if they gave me a microphone and a balcony from which to denounce, I would become a dictator, in a heartbeat. High vis jacket? A surveyor! White jacket, why, a pastry chef!
It's disconcerting to be such a jack of all trades. The lack of a single clear identity (lawyer, dentist, web designer, you know, normal walks of life) makes me yearn sometimes for an easy answer to the question: what do you do? To which I would have to answer, at present: well, I was a linguist, a teacher, a translator,  a graphic designer, a localiser and then an animator, and then I did a MA, but now I clean my apartment and wonder what I am - hey, where are you going? Come back!
I confuse myself with the array of possibilities, my heart speeds as I peruse the recruitment sites, and I have little fantasies about being a Multimedia programmer in Dublin West, or a lecturer in the tech, or a barwoman or a liontamer or a baker or a candlestick-maker. I imagine myself getting on the LUAS and sliding out to a millenial office block in my sharp suit. I see a montage of myself walking up the steps to work, laughing with my colleagues, having a drink after work in a warmly lit bar. For that minute, I swear, it's like I have bought wholesale that illusion that is promoted to us in every ad and every film we see - really, I am seeing myself pulling up my sleeves in one of those American TV dramas like, say, The Practice, you know? * where everyone is like family and the work is deeply absorbing and somehow fun, too, despite the late nights and constant coffee. And yet, there is a part of me that wants to be a part of that, that is so fascinated by the workplace, by the rivalries, alliances and hierarchies, that is seduced by the status, by being in the Real World - there is a part of office life which is so compelling to me - the intrigue, the gossip, the accidental friendships, the being familar, the sharing of time. (I need to find a way of writing about that, maybe in comic reportage style.. hmmm. Maybe I can get myself another parttime job and report on it. Definitely interesting. Kind of like the Worm that turns.. the voice of the little woman, reporting (one can hope) occasional scandals and everyday heroism. Only disadvantage is the early mornings :( which do not please Twangy).
This week started with the demolition of the show. Sisyphus would be so proud, all that work, now in the shape of so many piles of MDF and dust. It was sad. Everyone disappeared off, with no marking of the occasion. I wonder when/if I will see them again?
And then, it was the birthday of the JB. 34, you know. I made him a cake, which can only be described as a COMPLETE DISASTER. Either there is something seriously wrong with my new oven's thermostat or else, you know, avec moi, but the thing was charred black on top and swilling about in a liquid way within. So we went for a early bird pizza (excellent value! Ciao Bella, you are nice) and the next night, to see S*x and the city, which I really enjoyed, despite the lukewarm reviews, and for an excellent Chinese on Parnell St. It was the week of the Dining Out of Excellent Value & Quality.
Last night we went to see a famous organist improvising to the silent movie of The Hunchback of NotreDame. How many people could (want to) say that, now? It was mildly diverting, to a philistine like myself, but after a while, bum-numbingly uncomfortable and maddening, and from there, pretty quickly to fervent silent urging: Oh go on, die already! When we escaped I felt like I used to after double Maths, all giddy with relief and pent-up energy. (As I review this post, it occurs to me that it might behoove me to write more often and less. Perhaps with some more planning, and less erratic structure?)
For now however I remain, your philistine jack of all trades,
Twangy

*(**memo to self: seriously, is this is how impressionable I am? To have absorbed the ideas of work and status from TV?

Self: Why, yes, now that you mention it).

Edited to add. I must have had a fever when I was writing this. Tis the only reasonable explanation. Also, how many times did I use the word "part" as in, a part of me this, a part of me that? By the living hokey, how many parts do I have?

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