Expectation

It really has hit home recently how annoying expectation is, how utterly and entirely consuming the absolute hatred for expectations to be fulfilled actually is, and why when all I ask is for a scant period of time off why every man and his dog expect that I should be at their beck and call, I’ve tried switching off, but it doesn’t work – I’d love just for two days of the week to entirely unplug, phone, internet, e-mail, text, doorbell and brain, just to ‘be’ would be bliss – but while expectation is in the air it’s impossible to do so.

It’s my time, not anyone else’s and it irks me violently that certain companies and people don’t respect that, a perfect example being the letting agent phoning in the middle of a Saturday afternoon to ask whether it was possible for us to leave our premises unlocked so a painter could paint next doors wall – fuck off can we, and fuck off can he… and how about you just, well… fuck off – that’s what I wanted to say: but hey, it’s not their fault is it. They’re expecting you to be in, they know they’re going to get your undivided attention because they know that you’ll not have ‘the working week’ as your excuse to sideline, delay or ignore them, and it’s that knowledge that’s power…

I’m not sure whether it’s last night’s late night talking, or this morning’s reasonably early start, all I do know is that because of all of the above, the wisdom tooth giving me shit, and the cough that I seem to have caught off Dave, plus the early starting hay-fever sneezes and headaches I’ve been an un-remorseful shit-bag all day to the only person who’s had the displeasure of being in my company. I feel fucking wretched, and on that miserable note; I’m off to bed before I say or do anything more to upset the only person in the world right now who I give a shit about.

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