words as photographs

Such bullshit. I'm standing alone at the Wheatsheaf. Friends went away because life happens and due to some fucking high standards I've managed to drive acquaintances far into the void of indifference. I am a man alone, complaining he is alone, when a little bit more acceptance of my part would have made all the difference. A woman without her right arm stands in front of me, smoking a cigarette. She's here to meet friends. That's how it is. A girl who's not whole manages to get ahead of a dipshit that either through conscious or unconscious will has managed to live up to the notion that one man is an island. And all the while, there's this ominous smell of sewer.

I've made some bad decisions. Mostly decided to let things pass that are important to my happiness. The biggest one has to do with work. Sick and tired of the tasks I have been doing, instead of facing the issue head-on with my line-manager, I instead opted to sit still, let things roll and plan my way out. This started early July 2016. After a lot of planning and looking for alternatives, one year later I finally opted to inform management that I had enough of my role and was planning on getting out, to fully stop for three months and pursue a couple of personal projects. Management countered, inviting me to spear-head a new initiative that involves me being more technically creative, as well as moving me towards a new and unknown way of doing things. This piked my interest. And created a big internal conflict. For I won't be able to completely let go of the work that bores and demotivates me. There's also the fact that I have been suffering from bouts of loneliness...