Eating pie

A wise man once said, "Eating humble pie, like authentic Chinese food, is an acquired taste." Obviously, he isn't Chinese himself. And to tell you the truth, he isn't all that wise either. Not any more. Not since he had some of that humble pie that left not just a bad taste in the mouth but caused severe indigestion in his brain.

Over the last few months, I have been doing my best to not make compromises, to stand my ground, to do what I think I want to do. And the results are there to see for anyone who cares to look. Nada. Zilch. I blame my luck which shines down endlessly on me in all its darkness, and there are some who agree with this point of view. A very few others tell me that I have perhaps not made enough efforts or haven't gone about things in the right way. But the one thing that I have heard more than anything else, in terms of perfectly good-willed advice, is that I should start believing in god. Ah, the temptation...

Anyhow, so I was saying. With my back to the wall, I lowered my expectations and broadened my search to include things I had totally written off earlier. And now that my back has made a shallow hollow in the wall and is hurting like hell on account of being bruised, I am perhaps going to take the final step back, in to the wall, the personal wall of shame .

Three years ago, I had left television production, full of disgust for the industry in general and for my erstwhile workplace to be specific. I went to study some more in the hope that it would help me move away from the line of work I had previously found myself stuck in. I left London because I found myself doing broadcast work again. And now, it seems to me that once again, I will find myself back in shit creek. This time, for good. Same old job, same old office, same old colleagues, and I hate it all. Aye, the taste of shit is remarkably similar to that of the humble pie that is curdling my brain.

Two weeks.