Monday, 17 June 2013


A writer who cannot write.

A painter who cannot paint.

My creative block continues, and I’m pulling my hair out.

I feel like a fake.

A pretender.

Repetitive and unoriginal.

A waste of space.


I’ve got a horrible medical assessment form to fill in at the moment, which I’ve almost done, but its hanging around me like a bad smell. (Or maybe that’s just Mr B’s trumps…)

My support worker has told me to have a ‘tentative’ look at part time work. But I literally freak out every time I go on one of those websites. I look at the list of jobs and either see a job that I can’t do, or one that I wouldn’t really want to do (like being a bin man or something, just don’t think the outfit would suit me.)

In a few weeks I’ve got some employability and IT courses starting, so hopefully they will give me a bit of confidence.

I just feel like a useless waste of space. Whoops said that already, told you I was repetitive.

If anyone does have any inspired ideas about what to do with my life, then please let me know.

In the meantime, I’m available to create you a painting (Sue and Jim, I haven’t forgotten yours, just waiting for the creative lull to end) proof reading essays, dog walking or dog sitting (not that I actually sit on your dog, but I’m sure you know that already.)

Mr B says I should stop worrying and watch the Muppets, he knows they always make me smile. Top advice really.




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