It was the last day at Helfridges today, I decided I am not the person who says yes to that kind of work anymore, I just wont buy the incurring shoes instead. I will pass on the exchange of time+hell=money/(shoes+bedding) and just say no. I will not measure my success in the thread count of my awfully unethical cotton sheeting. How can I sleep on it now I've just thought about the poor Egyptian children. Oh my god. But I still bought them. Anyway, no, I won't say yes to things just because they are (nearly)£10/hour. I should stop being so material and needing rewards for giving my time away to something shit. A lot of people don't do this. They either aren't driven by commodities or they get a credit card. They keep their time for good things. I guess when I said yes I felt I needed to be punished or such like. 'If you won't do the course, then take THAT'.
Is it ok to feel quite jealous of their photographs? They look like so much fun, but I could never have carried on with that. I would much rather prefer to find my own way in. I wonder what I will say on the phone tomorrow. I wonder if it will be another one of those times where I build it up and set a date and the time comes and I have to go back down to 1 again. I need to relax and formulate a new plan. But I also need to focus on realities, not just future lists and ifs all the time. Little fake realities just set up for sadness. I'm doing it already. I'm a bit pissed off that article came out just last week. Bandwagon. And I though I was wile-y. I'll be fucking grumpy if that's a no too. No we won't let you come work here for free to see if you fancy it, you big faker, go the proper ways like everyone else you wile-y beast. Why am I making it harder, finding it hard to go by conventions? I guess I never fit into the conventions. The conventions never chose me, the ways are not my way. I'm looking forward to seeing my way. It seemed in sight about a month ago but recently things have slid. What did make me pleased was seeing a person from the past in my present yesterday, 'remember how SAD and DRESSED IN BLACK you used to be at Coffee Union?', 'I know, not now, look at my very COFFEE coordinated outfit, AND, I'm fucking HAPPY!'
On a final note, a wave of sadness came over today. The premium roses stall in Selfridges, selling an alright-sized bunch for like £120, made me realise a wile doesn't always work. I made this snap decision- on seeing an assistant dead-heading a bunch, I knew what was next, and I for some reason, asked if they sell 'slightly dying' flowers. We had a bit of a communication issue, or maybe she couldn't just understand my insane request, and by that time the only-slightly dead-heads were upside down in the bin. From £8 a stem to bin, like that, just from a slightly curled petal. I wanted to snatch them out of the bin, 'I'm a contractor they say, don't I have SOME weight', and just have them. They were perfect 70s dusky magenta pink. They had no worth and the till was void and they were beautiful. Almost worth £8 a go but not really and I will never own one legitimately. But it shows you can't talk your way into everything. Or you could, buy you'd be on the edge of pleading insanity. But what would that matter on your last day in Helfridges for a week of amazing short-stemmed scented roses?
