Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Dream Job

Some people suggest using ones own experience to find inspiration but at present I feel my experience is what is preventing me from doing so. I have such wonderful things to write about, but the one thing choking my mind is my job and as this is where I spend most of my days it is overshadowing everything else. It is soul-destroying.

When I left school the Head of English told me she could see me as Curator of the British Museum. Eight years later I saw this teacher again and she remembered what she told me that day. I felt utterly and completely ashamed to admit that I work in an industry completely unrelated to my passion - books.

How did I end up here? A good day at work is one in which I do not burst into tears or have someone yell at me. Surely that is not right? Is it any wonder I feel so lost in my own head?! It has reached the point that I am now not looking for my dream job - I am looking for any job, which just means I will end up in the same situation a few months down the line.

Is there such a thing as a dream job? I have a couple of friends who love their work, who couldn't imagine anything they would rather be doing. I am in awe. It is hard to believe that such jobs exist. Where are they?

People laugh or look uncomfortable when I tell them I want to be a librarian - I may as well have a chicken on my head for the reactions I receive. Who would want to spend their days around musty old books? I would. Desperately. But just as there is something blocking my creativity, it seems the same force is preventing me from finding my dream job, where I can thrive and find myself.

Let the search truly begin...

Here Goes...

One night, sitting with a couple of bottles and a friend discussing my creative drought it was suggested I start a blog. Now, being the kind of person I am it has taken me over a week to decide on colour schemes, fonts, text sizes (which I am still not sure about)... constantly putting off the moment to start writing. But here it is...

All my life I have thought of myself as a writer, but for months I have not anything of note. I think about words constantly - how they fit together, how they roll off the tongue... my mind is perpetually buzzing, only with other people's words. Why can I not find any of my own?

There is much in my life that bears amazing creative potential, be it happy, sad, exciting, confusing, dark, but I am unable or subconsciously unwilling to grasp it and I am on the verge of physical pain. There seems to be a very real force preventing my pencil from hitting paper.

I do hope, as my friend suggests, this blog will help to ease the frustration and at least keep me writing, even if it is mindless dribble, for which I apologise now. Please accept this as my disclaimer - read on at your peril!