I thought what could I do this week...

I thought I could kill myself, but I do however have a week off. 

One more week at work and I just might of.

That's dramatic stuff. Piles of dirty dusty things in a 30°C apartment. Unwashed clothes no storage, a dirty bathroom a shower curtain with a dark tarred eco system on the last 18 inches of drape. My life is a lonely one after taking off the mask of bon homie, humour and normality I come home to the same four walls, and sit on the large pause button that is my life. A lonely life with nobody else, my upbringing and resultant addictions put paid to that, sapped my confidence in my own ability. 

My neighbour had a free oven, it's better than mine, I hauled it upstairs - free creature comforts. I found out why things like this are free as nobody wants to help you fit it. It's also with much in common in life not as good as the picture might suggest, bumps and irreparable scuffs. From a clever angle anything can look respectable.

I pick at my skin, I pull my eyebrows, I target the grey. I don't shower enough. I might have medicinal wank, and procrastinate about I future and dreams I can't finance.

This dusty flat with a coating of my skin and hair, which I believe a lot of dust is - The Crumbled me - everywhere.

I've worked in the same place for 20 years, year upon year its got worse, vitriolic tittle tattle behind my back, zero support in any type of crisis, telling me when I have time off, I make the tea - I wash the pots, free overtime, the bosses mood swings. It all wears me down, to a point where physically I can't even get in on time. It's nothing personal. I'm professionally burnt out - well done. The only thing that pulls me through is my talent and rapport with the clients, who don't see someone slowly fading inside desperately finding energy to put into that light bulb.

I just can't do the punctuality, as I smack the snooze button several times each morning, although apparently there's plenty of others that want my job and will work for less. This puts me in a tricky position, as what else could I do at 56. So I put up and shut up. He has no idea how difficult he is to work with, I'm the smooth pebble in the stream with all the shards of rebellion worn down long ago, the water just passes over me now. The once granite stones become a dishwasher tablet.

All my professional life everyone has done well from my talent apart from me. It's a Sisyphean task, 5 days a week, every week. I look at that washing up again. It's like staring up at Everest lashed by the elements that you're meant to conquer wearing flip flops and holding a towel.