No. 29 So Bored my Eyes Bled

What follows is a cautionary tale on the dangers of a day’s work.

I’m sure there are as many satisfying jobs as there are satisfied jobees (made up word). One man’s shit-shoveller is another man’s “outdoor work, tools provided”. Unfortunately I’m not one of these jobees, nor have I been thus far in my illustrious career.

Without going into too much detail, my present occupation (in the Germany over France sense of the word) involves me staring at a wall for eight hours of the day, and making the occasional note on a computer should said wall show any sign of changing colour.

I assume it’s a very similar occupation to the one of watching paint dry, only minus the sense of satisfaction (my wall’s already dry). Therefore it’s an ongoing process without an achievable conclusion. There’s no ’scuse me whilst I kiss the sky’ moment for me. Just the same nut-numbing process day in, day out.

Suffice to say that Jeffman is making plans to extricate himself from such a terrible fate and possibly enter the realms of those that are satisfied with their lot in life. A satisfied jobee.

But until that fine day arrives I hang on by the teeth, to the extent that boredom threatens to place your favourite scribe into one of those comas you hear so much about.

The symptoms are already manifesting. Gathering about my person like the sweaty palms of a fat lass on a promise. These include a lackadaisical attitude to standing when in the presence of Royals; an inability to recite all four verses of the national anthem; a disinterest when violence erupts down the boozer; an unprecedented aversion to all things bright and beautiful; and bleeding from my eyes.

Yes, you read that right. I’m can pass muster with the first two, but once we’ve hit the third verse I’m buggered.

As for the bleeding from the eyes; well if you stare at a wall for too long that’s what happens. It’s a daily occurrence during the week. One that’s always guaranteed to have mother’s huddle their children closer to them on my bus journey home, as though Gary Glitter’s just boarded and purchased a Familysaver ticket. Hence Jeffman has resorted to sporting a rather dapper pair of sunglasses for the ride home. To lessen the impact, so to speak.

True, it’s a pitfall of my current line of work, but until Jeffman has bettered his situation, he still has to keep himself in booze and the occasional Pukka pad upon which to scrawl this nonsense. And so the haemorrhaging of the eye sockets continues.

The real danger - aside from premature blindness, of course – is that boredom erodes a man’s soul deep, and can invoke an even more dangerous demon that lurks inside Jeffman. One that is always ready, willing, and indeed able to administer a swift kick to one’s own family jewels.

The demon I refer to is complacency, which has seen me wanting to change the channel before, but made me too bone idle to reach for the remote. Until it’s too late.

Not this time though. This blood loss is not only making me light-headed but ruining the collar of many a decent shirt.

When the time comes, this will be one change that Jeffman embraces with open arms. You have been warned.

Like the cut of my jib? Wanting more? Then subscribe to my RSS Feed.