- Books, Literature, and Writing
Fed up with Work
What happens when you're idle at work
Many years ago I worked in a hospital. Well, I say worked. I could probably fit my entire working day into about two and a half hours. The day could really drag by, but if it wasn't for this I would have never started writing. I was only 20 at the time, single, living at home with my mum and brother and spending all my spare cash in the pub at the weekend. A typical routine for a 20 year old you might say and you would be right. It was typical. I would usually go out on a Wednesday night in Paisley. This was a student night and it was usually busier than a Friday or Saturday due to all the drink promotions. The next morning I would drag myself into work suffering from dehydration, sleep deprivation and stubborn kebab stains. Luckily for me I would only have to undergo a couple of hours of actual work and then I was idle again. This is when I somehow decided to start writing about the night before. It really is amazing the detail that you can remember after a drunken night out when you start typing out the details word for word. And so this is exactly what I did. I began writing little stories about nights out and sometimes added some extra details in that never actually happened just for a laugh.
Amazingly, I began to get some credibility through all my friends and acquaintances who also wanted to read about their part in the stories of the night before. This really spurred me on to continue to write and after a while writing was no longer confined to just my working hours, but I actually started writing at home too. Of course, being only 20 years old I lacked the discipline or the direction to really see the potential for my new hobby and unfortunately my writing seemed to have all but stopped with a change of job. I am now 35 and I'm married with children and for whatever reason a switch has just been activated in my brain recently and I can't stop writing hub pages. Long may it continue as I'm having a lot of fun.
Below is an very short poem I wrote on a post it note all those years ago in my old work:-
This work, I do, though not committed
I pass the time, yet look unrested
But the truth be told my workload is little
So every two minutes I go for a piddle