Mildly hungover. Just now I'm partway through reading Jean Rhys' excellent 1939 novel Good Morning Midnight, a semi-autobiographical account of a character shambling her way through various soul-destroying dead-end jobs and drinking herself into oblivion. Perhaps under its rather bleak influence, yesterday I took advantage of my 'not logged-in' status at the call-centre coalface, and left work early to go out on the piss. For the past week I've been under orders to listen in on the calls of others rather than to take any myself, so I trust my absence went unobserved. The afternoon was spent drinking with friends in the crisp spring sunshine at the DCA, an enjoyable example of life imitating art.
Earlier in the day I saw the careers adviser again to collect some links and addresses for possible recruitment contacts. A change of direction really can't come soon enough.
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