So, what am I happiest doing? It's an odd question and it's been asked by a few people recently, particularly in light of the fact that I'm still struggling to find the energy to struggle to find work. I've got energy for other endeavours, of course. I did open mike last night and could hardly sit still, even through all the other acts including an incredibly cute a capella girl. Finding a job is difficult anyway, on account of the fact that I have very little idea what I actually want to do, coupled with the current economic climate which pretty much guarantees that the richest people around are members of the Mafia.
That is to say, publicly I have no idea what I want to do. Privately, I want to blog. I am happiest writing these posts. Okay, so I'm probably happier while actually having sex, but that doesn't count (mostly because I'm not having any?!). Something I can depend upon, something which I can do, something which doesn't seem like a chore (updating my other website), a necessity (stacking the dishwasher, etc.) or a demand (fill this form in, or else!) - it's writing this blog. I like it and I'd like to think I'm not bad at it. Okay, some posts aren't great, but some are genuinely fun to write. And, of course, it means I get to drink tea, which is good too.
This would be a lot easier if I were still in full-time education. Okay, maybe if I were 17, writing a sex blog may be a little suspect (although I was already visiting sex IRC rooms at that age - shhh, don't tell the media!), but while I was at university first time around, I could have done with writing a sex blog. I didn't particularly enjoy my first year and a half at university (third year was OK), but it was tolerable. And I was doing English, so there was always something new to read or write, and great discussions to be had in the seminars.
Second time around, the university was terrible, the course was terrible and some of the teachers were absolutely dire. I had my girlfriend all the way through and the support of my friends both in and out of the course, but I don't know how I'd have coped if I hadn't had my sex blog. Why? Again, it was something I could do, and something that was disconnected from the course and the placements I so despised. I wasn't really grinding them out as much as I was earlier on, when I was a teaching assistant (again, also rather suspect; but it's anonymous, dammit), or as I am now, now that I have been cast adrift. But I could, if I wanted, sit in a computer room at college and bang one out (a post, not an orgasm. I could have orgasmed as well, of course, only I may not have been able to return to college afterwards), and that often made me feel better: laying out truths, recounting amusing anecdotes or sorting my head out, via ILB.
It was my saving grace... and what made me feel so good about it was that (almost) every word came from my fingertips, giving the keyboard my equivalent of a sexy massage.
So actually, I do know what I want to do. I want to sit here and write my sex blog. I don't currently, and never will, make any money out of this, but it's specifically designed that way. I don't want epileptic spasmodic banners, popups, pop-unders or over-commercialised sidebars. It's just not me. Sex is free, after all, so why shouldn't I be?
But I know what I want to do. I want to get a job which is tolerable enough to do which I wouldn't mind doing, would be OK, and which would allow me to return home and tap out an entry into ILB, should the urge arise. Yeah, so being a sex writer would be OK (I've actually written "sex writer" in the list of ten jobs I would like to do that the Job Centre is making me fill out), but then again, so would being an international rock star.
As long as whatever I do still allows me to write here... well, I guess that would be okay.