It's one of those days when I really, really hate my job.
Writing stuff that is rubbish to start with (unavoidable, given that it combines the twin glories of banking and marketing), then having it changed by semi-literate tossers into even worse dross, wears me down after a while.
It's a bit like a cold virus, I guess - most of the time I can fight it off without even noticing, but sometimes my resistance is low and I succumb to a really bad bout.
Let's hope it's a 24-hour version.
How I amuse myself when I should be working
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Books read in April, 20241 day ago
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Real people: May at the market4 days ago
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Echo, echo, echo...9 years ago
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Under the greenwood tree9 years ago
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2 comments:
I can really sympathise with your feeling of disgust. The one consolation is that the stuff you write isn't appearing with your name on it. Yes, it's hard to keep up one's self respect at times like this, but the dreaded financial imperative reigns supreme at the moment. Or as Ian Batey once said to me when I complained about advertising writing "just keep writing and think of the money".
Oh, I have no problems with self-respect, I just wish I could tell the idiots I deal with what I think of them.
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