The Sartorialist Was Out But All I Got Was Scam Scouted

So ordinarily I would've just said no, but I was balancing bag, paper and peanut butter sarnie when this guy stopped me and took my picture and gave me a card. I am desperate. Yes you can have my number, no there's no commission?, and yes I would like to be an extra please as I am just on my way to maybe quit my job. I felt flattered for a second but looked well greasy, and was distracted by his fancy camera. Surely a fake would use a disposable Max Spielman? Anyway, I gave him my number and that was a mistake. At least the Sartorialist DIDN'T see me, I looked pretty bad.

I enjoyed my camera yesterday, though the 140mm zoom proved obscenely embarrassing. It's bloody huge! And it winds out really slowly, precariously, and noisily. I hope the prawn pictures turn out, I can taste them now. I went to the flower market and got prawns, 50p each. It felt proper cockney, though I doubt cockney folk have anything to do with prawns mostly, maybe I'm thinking of welks. Actually, I'm thinking of those little polystyrene tubs, not the actual contents of wet warm vinegary seafood. I want to go to Brighton. In fact I want to go anywhere, I did start to zone out in central today, like town was just a blur of distraction from my thoughts. I felt quite satisfied, like I'm on my way to Conquering London. Maybe it was the libraries and bookshops.

I almost quit my job. I didn't actually but almost. It felt quite powerful, but also a bit foolish now. Maybe I will email Shona soon. I don't want to work in Pizza Express. They are well going to call my bluff, I know it, and I feel like a bit of an idiot for 'quitting' my job over one day. But it's important to me, I don't want to miss it. If they can't give me that day, well. I feel a bit gross though, like I've laid out my bluff, but I'm ACTUALLY double-bluffing, becuase I know they know I know they don't want to have to fire me. I'm giving them the OPTION of firing me, or the option of my resignation, but I've actually done nothing to get fired for, and I don't actually want to quit. It's quite knotted. I feel like a manipulative piece. I do. And I know they know I do.

I am getting some little ideas now, bit by bit. Only tiny sparks, from things I see, ('Time You Got A Watch?', anyone?), but it proves my brain is still there. If I ever meet my favourite neuroscientist, I'm going to ask him to explain the different halves of the brain, and feel really warm and comforted by his answers. He should really come into the shop. I don't want to stop working there, I like the knowing cross section. Hmmm. I wonder if they will call my bluff. They probably fucking will. And they know I know they will.