Ok, I Think I Get It...

The cat is like a lodger you pay for.  One day she was there, nervous, cagey.  She kept to herself mainly, slowly emerged from the cellar for food only to scurry away again and hide in a box and bolt out of that terrified.  4 years on, she changed.  The day goes as follow, she wakes us and baby up kindly around 6:50am, ten minutes before the baby has the pleasure.  I tend not to set an alarm anymore, I work like the native Americans, either the animals wake me or I do by having drank way to much juice the night before.  I trounce down to the kitchen, sleep still fused to my eyelashes and stand outside the door to the kitchen, greeted by what sounds like a tiny zombie trying to break to door down.  I turn the handle and watch as a screeching, furry mammal scurries around my ankles like a greasy weasel.  As I walk to the cupboard where her food is kept, she cranes her neck upwards and blocks my path, tripping me.  I feel as if she doesn’t...

A lady nudges her husband and points at my screen, they exchange glances.  I act like I don’t see them or care, but in reality I care a great deal and in some ways I feel a small sense of importance.  “maybe this job is cool” I think.  Then they turn back to the inflight magazine, sip from their glasses of wine with lids, I continue to model up some kitchen in CAD. I am a designer, I travel on an almost weekly basis to Northern Italy, I fly to one of the Venice airports then on to my meetings with suppliers dotted around Treviso, Friul and Cormons.  It sounds like a dream job to most people.  Most people think that I wake up around 10am, roll into a pair of freshly pressed chinos, throw a cashmere scarf over my tanned, muscular shoulders and wander out of my home topless.  I stride with confidence with a satchel full of pencils, step into my chauffeur driven limo which whisks me 10 minutes to my learjet.  The plane takes off, which disturbs my ...