You’ve had the same meat, week in, week out for the last God knows how many years. The same meat cooked the same way, with the same sauce. Vanilla vanilla vanilla.
You get to the point where you fancy a change. Something a bit different. Something a bit spicy, perhaps. A bit exotic. Something that resurrects your old enthusiasm for the dish. Reminds you of when you were young and it was all fresh, new and exciting. Before the ennui set in. Before you became over-familiar. Bored. Before you had to fake it.
How was it for you, dear?
Yeah. Yeah. Great. Are we done? Good, ‘cos I really need to sleep now.
And you hit the z’s knowing full well you’ll have to go through the same charade again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.
Unless you do something. Unless you find, I don’t know, ingredient X. A new flame.
Well, I’m on the hunt for ingredient X. I’m on the prowl. And all offers will be welcomed, considered and one might even be accepted.
I’m not quite sure what ingredient X is but I know it has some of these components:
a) A better wage. No point making a change unless I get more money.
b) More kudos. That would be nice. No more poop-scooping or shoving buckets under leaky urinals.
c) Less crap responsibilities and more good responsibilities. Hell, we all want that but that doesn’t devalue the demand.
d) The ability to leave work at the office at the end of the day and not get rung at home, without fail, every holiday and 2 out of 3 weekends.
e) A better class of workmate. Could write oodles here but can’t, if you see what I mean.
f) I’m prepared to bargain-plea with most of the above but a) and e) are non-negotiable.
Trouble is, for all my hunting skills, my flint headed spears are finding scant prey to be launched at. New job opportunities are a bit thin on the ground.
I know that, in theory, this means I should turn back to the bony carcass of my existing job, make peace with it, cuddle up to it like we’re a couple of old spoons and be reconciled.
But. I. Just. Can’t. Do. It.
I’m sick of the same old bitter meat. The same old bitter meat topped with poisonous gravy.
I fancy an Indian. Or an Italian. Or a Chinese. Hell, even a vegetarian moussaka would do the trick. Anything.
Anything but this.
I’m shrivelling up. And I’m going to lose it if I don’t use it.
So I’m on the prowl.
On the prowl for something new. Something exciting.
I just need a decent shot at it.