3.09.2010

Green eyed blogger

I am monstrously jealous right now. In recent weeks I have been jealous of:

Writers. All of you, you bastards, with your words and your chapters. My half novel languishes, reviled and abandoned, on my hard drive. I have lost any belief it will ever see the light of day. If I already hate it, why should anyone else feel differently? And yet there you all are, with your '5000 words before lunch!' 'Out in paperback today!'. Begone. I hate you all.

A blogger whose blog is being optioned for a tv series. I was actually unable to speak for about 15 minutes when I found out about this, which was unfortunate since I was having lunch with the blogger in question.

People who like their jobs, and particularly the ones who had the guts and the self-belief to do something they love. Journalists, I am looking at you. Rich expat civil servants, I am sort of looking at you too, but I find it hard to envy your actual jobs. I just want your money.

Londoners. Exile is cruel, and I long for your wifi enabled cafes and for + J at Uniqlo and going to the newsagents on a Tuesday for Heat, Grazia and a chunky peanut butter KitKat.

People without children and dogs, who can decide to stay out all night, or go to Seville - or even just Sainsbury's - on a whim. People who do not have to try and remain cogent for the babysitter and get home by midnight. People who don't spend Saturday nights alone, fidgeting on the internet for some cold facsimile of companionship and wondering what the fuck is happening to their lives and whether it will ever get better, and if they even remember how to sustain a conversation about something other than Bakugans or balls.

People with confidence, who don't agonise for half an hour about how to ask for a cup of coffee, or replay every spluttered, fucked up conversation in their heads endlessly. Esprit d'Escalier? The escalier in question would have to be the Niesen Funicular (yes of course I had to look it up) to accomodate all my regrets and rehashings. People with social skills.

The dog, who does not have to worry about paying the rent or psychologically damaging his children, or whether he will be alone for the rest of his days, getting more and more bitter and eccentric. He just lies around licking his balls and having faith that the human will provide. Nice work if you can get it, you bastard.

I am stopping here to go and glare at some more people with nice teeth and fulfilling relationships.