I have broken the beasts back; I split open its skull and drank the marrow straight from its shattered bones. My job is all over and I am free to be the dyslexic drug addled insomniac that I couldn’t afford to be for the last month.

I’m unwinding the best way I know how, alone, with a victory drink in one hand, and scribbling in my note book with the other, in hand writing so bad it looks like drunken Arabic.

I no longer have to be that guy, the guy who has to be in bed for eleven, the guy who moans about his day despite seeing the interest deaden from his friends faces ten minutes ago, the guy who in the last three weeks has only been to the pub twice , dark things are afoot when this young puck cant go to the pub – my more unstable friends likened it to cats and dogs fucking each other and are now looking for further signs of the apocalypse, mumbling crazy and dark things like “the remaining seals will be broken soon”.

The soft porn music videos on the pubs jukebox system is reminding me of how little female contact I have had recently, two women work in the office both too old to work up any decent wank fantasies over. Seriously, the amount of self abuse I have been doing over my ex girlfriends, I may have permanently damaged their auras.

I actually got “let go” before my contract ran out, I came down with a nasty cold virus that knocked me on my arse for a bit, and still has my nose running like a tap. Too which my employers ended the contract early – I dont blame them really, I was costing them a lot, but I earned every single fucking penny. I’m proud of the job I did there, no that’s wrong I’m proud of myself for being able to do a job that is the exact opposite of what I should be able to do.

Not that it helped, it seems that I have accidentally spunked all the money I earned, I have no idea how, but my bank account has flatlined none the less. So back to bar work, a job not only more suited to my skill set, but I also get to be near booze.