Friday, February 23, 2007


One of the things I have been struggling with recently is the minor question of what the hell I am doing with my life. I cannot live at home much longer, because I feel constantly in transition. Like I am waiting for something to happen, waiting for a nirvana point at which everything will just start to work and life will take off. This frustrates me, because I know that life won't suddenly slot into place magically. I know I have to build it myself, and I don't feel I'm doing that at the moment. I know I have to change things, but I can't quite work out what to do.

Well, actually I know exactly what I want, but I am not sure I am brave enough to snatch it with my grubby little fingers.

I want to move back into London. To gain some control over my existence. At the moment I don't feel I ever relax. I feel like going out is escaping staying in, and staying in is escaping going out. I want a room of my own.

Virginia Woolf, I think, had a point.

I want to live in Camden or Kentish Town. I want to earn money to pay my rent but I cannot tell you how sick I feel at the idea of office work. I am no good at it. When I've done any sort of office work I have found that my apathy towards it is completely paralysing. It isn't that I need to find something office-y that I care about, because I don't want to. I want to have a job because I need money, but I want to be in an environment where people accept the idea of having a higher priority than the working-to-pay-rent one. Music is the thing I feel passionate and driven about, and I want to work somewhere that has a high percentage of people who understand that. Somewhere I find interesting, of course, and fun. Somewhere I can meet interesting people everyday, but where I will not feel abnormal for having ambition other than within the confines of the workplace. I don't want to have to lie in interviews, because it would make me feel horrible to say that I cared about something when actually I didn't.

(I secretly dream of working in a tattoo parlour. Imagine the people I'd meet! It would be so fun. Obviously the sound of people screaming all day might wear me down, but not as much as the sound of photocopiers and fax machines, I am sure of that.)

I want to have a fun life. I want to sing, but I also want to live on my own, so I must earn money. I am encouraged to just get an office job. It makes sense, because I am (Quite) Intelligent and Have A Good Degree and Can Answer Phones, but I don't want to. I could earn more money doing it, of course. I would honestly prefer to work in a music shop, or a bookshop (or a tattoo parlour).

I could work and sing, make the most of my time by being occupied and busy. Not, though, by being ground into a dust of boredom by a job that makes me feel horrible. I can't do that to myself.

I am feeling very scared about making moves and decisions, because I am scared that my family and friends will think I am lazy and job-shy if I don't go for a nice marketing job in favour of working in a shop that sells rubber clothes (for example). I know I should do what I want and follow my heart, but I am a craver of approval (did the blogging give that away?) and I am terrified that people will think I'm stupid. Stupid and immature and silly. Now don't get me wrong, I am all three of those things, but I would prefer that they resided predominantly in my sense of humour, as usual.

I had other things to write about today, but I have rambled on with my 'blah blah life blah' stuff for too long.

I wanted to write about going to an open mic the other night in Earls Court and hanging out with loads of male and female models. I stood up very straight and told myself I had many good qualities and it isn't all about looks anyway. Also Prince Harry was there. He wasn't buying the drinks, though, so my interest waned pretty quickly.

Also I spent the other morning with a chihuahua. It belonged to one of the models whose house I stayed at (there was cake! In the house of a model! I didn't see her eat any, though) (maybe because some of the cake crumbs got in my eyes when I was shoving it in my own mouth). I got to take the dog on the tube with me and talk to it in a stupid voice for a while, whilst we both enjoyed the attention of strangers. People in London are a lot more friendly if you carry animals around with you, I found. Although I suspect the response might have been somewhat different had I been carrying around a sabre tooth tiger, say, or a great white shark.

I have a gig tomorrow night, at Claridges. I am looking forward to it, although I think my Long Slinky Black Dress might have a hole in it, which presents me with a pretty serious problem. I might have to wear my Medium Length Slinky Black Dress. Life really can be tricky sometimes.

Finally, I have to say thank you to Kelly (see sidebar) for sending me a lovely card of loveliness to cheer me up. I am such a big fan of her work.

Have a good weekend. Also, if you happen to pass any tattoo parlours would you mind popping in and seeing what the pay is like? Thanks.


Anonymous Mr Angry said...

You carried a dog?

Around the streets of London?

Actually carried it?

My flabber has never been so gasted.

5:28 pm

Blogger Léonie said...

Yes. I carried it. To make the experience even fuller the girl I was with was a fashion stylist and had a bag to put the dog in so she could carry it around Selfridges with her.

I felt so much glee at being part of that cliché, it completely made my day.

5:48 pm

Blogger Clarissa said...

I think there are probably more screams in an office than in a tattoo parlour.

8:12 pm

Blogger Jack said...

Speaking as one who has spent quite a bit of time in tattoo parlours, the pay is dreadful - assuming you are talking about a counter job rather than actually being a tattooist.

'Dreadful' is of course a relative term but in this case I am using it to mean 'insufficent to afford a flat in Camden' but then, most jobs are. If you're keen though, try placing an job wanted ad in Skin Deep magazine ( Alas, the same is true for working in rubber clothes shops - though if you have the skills to actually make the latex clothes themselves the pay is fairly good...

I find that I am content ('happy' would be the wrong word) to work my office job because I know I do it only to fund what I really consider my job, my PhD. Couldn't do it for a 'career' or if I hoped to get any level of satisfaction out of it in itself, though. *shudder*

9:17 pm

Anonymous greavsié said...

Dear Léonie,

You are quite normal.



11:06 am

Blogger Phoenix said...

Look for the magic in the little things. That's how you build your life.


8:15 pm

Blogger Léonie said...

Clarissa - yes, I think so too. There are only so many times you can claim to have accidentally stapled your hand to the desk before you are forced to admit that you're screaming due to the big, gaping void that is your soul. I have been there.

Jack - Ah, see I don't need to afford a whole flat in Camden, just a little room. I will check out the website, thanks.

Greavsié - Normal? Did I say I WANTED to be NORMAL?! (Ah, yes, I sort of did, didn't I. Thank you)

Phoenix - Thank you. That's lovely.

12:37 pm


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