Over The Hedge.

Totally and utterly over it.

Yes, Yours Truly has a job. A job in Finance. Yours Truly, the one who has a strong design/creative/writing background, is working for a Hedge Fund, and sweet weeping Mary it is *diabolical*.

It's a bit like this really: Take a body. Say for example you're a gonad cell. You work away in a creative role. You like what you do. Other people like what you. You make pretty stuff. And whilst you're not a heart cell or a liver cell, you still perform a very necessary role in the body as a whole. You are by no means a toenail. Then one day, the blood stream knocks on your door and whisks you off into the dizzying heights of the skull. You're in the brain and everyone's wearing grey. They're all talking in ones and zeros and zipping to and fro, frenzied and freaky. And you start to feel stupid. Completely and utterly f*cking useless. Whilst you're specialised in what you do, this is clearly faaaar away from home. Except, of course, if you happen to be a male gonad cell, in which case the two types of cells are practically one and the same.

Whilst it may sound like I'm working as the treaurer for a tiny branch (hahaha. ahem.) of National Parks, or a charity for prickly vermin, this is not the case. There are numbers. There are acronyms. There are codes and Index thingys. Bar charts, pie charts, squiggly lines. Every f*cking email is cc'd to every creature in the ENTIRE f*cking hedge, and what makes it worse is that it means nothing to me. It might as well have been written in a Japanese dialect of Siberian Yiddish (spoken predominantly in East Timor) whilst on acid and chewing a donut. Gigabyte upon gigabyte of nonsensical numeracy. And there's a lot of paper. I'm scared of the paper. Ridiculous but true. It wants to cut me. It does. Every piece i touch taunts my delicate little hands and i can actually hear a potential paper cut creeping up on me. The A4 Xerox wants to slice me and suck my blood, leaving me lacerated and twitching amongst the 4 billion different recycling bins and endless supplies of chocolate Hobnobs.