Being Job.

I was listening to a song on YouTube tonight which reminded me of a difficult three months back in the 90s. I was a square peg being forced through a round hole for twelve hours a day by an unfeeling system, and all I could do was grit my teeth and get through it. I did get through it with the help of some actor friends, Enya’s Shepherd Moons, a plentiful supply of alcohol, and an adequate supply of the glorious weed.

And then I realised that my life has been a succession of intermittent trial periods which I just had to get through, and I always did (although one led me to the very brink of the precipice and I was only saved by falling asleep.) Interestingly, most of them lasted for three months, six months, or twelve months. The most recent lasted four years. I suppose that’s progress.

I wonder how long the current one will last; I wonder whether it will be the final one. Should I hope that it is, or that it isn’t?