A man approached me today whilst I was walking towards the job centre. Dark hair, slightly taller than me, athletic build, an angular face - his jaw line to his chin produced a near triangle shape. He was smartly dressed, a dark green coloured teamed up with dark navy blue trousers.
He asked me if I was looking for work. I back stepped and confirmed I was.
"Cash in hand. What are you doing at the moment?"
I paused a few seconds. Do I accept or not?
"Sorry, I won't work cash in hand"
Fool.
Was it a trap to catch me out? I don't know. I was tempted to grass him up to the security guard in the job centre but the usual burly looking black man wasn't in there, instead today there was a middle aged, potbellied guy. I didn't think that would be as entertaining.
A few jobs to apply for today. That's something.
Not so good that I don't really want to work.
There we go. In writing. Certainly not full time anyway. Definitely not for the man. Not to make him rich.
There's more to it than that. With my trouble sleeping and my depression working 9-5 regularly is near on impossible. Believe me I have tried and tried again. Working for myself, working at something I get some pleasure out of and giving time for other things I like doing. Running for instance, if my back and hamstring weren't messed up.
I'm looking into it. Researching.
The really funny thing is I suggested it to my ex, starting a business. I wasn't happy with her paying my way. She was all for it. Something we knew or one of us could teach the other. We decided on Cars. Something she said she knew. Last time I voiced this in pulic I was told I was deluded. No. I'm not. That's what we arranged. She used to do it. She said she'd go to auctions to see whats about, she said her cousin had a garage and tools he'd allow us to use.
Off topic now. Never mind. It's my diary. My thoughts. Get them out of my head.
Lots of things to do.
Still miss her. Have been feeling suicidal today. Want to chop my hand of. Have a visit to Beachy Head. I got part way there once. Turned back. Stop the internal pain. The hurt. The hurt of having no one here to touch, to hold, to carress, to feel. To be wanted.
No one does. I'm not even sure she did.
