There’s something beautiful about walking down a busy city street on a cold drizzly morning with I Wanna Hold Your Hand filling your ears. Even if work’s a bitch, even if you feel lost, even when life seems to hold nothing but tedium, it makes one (or at least me) feel better.

Still, there’s only fleeting comfort to be drawn from a song. At least I’ll be in Taiwan in less than a week. Maybe that’ll help some. I’m looking forward to it. Some time alone with Pat and away from this shithole is bound to be good though I dread the backlog of work that will inevitably await.

But why am I thinking about work already? I’ve had more than I can take and a bit more. The people that sign my pay cheque don’t understand the effort that goes into every single piece of work that we do. All they see are the figures. And so the work keeps coming. Hour after hour. Day after day. But what’s most disappointing is that they don’t understand that good work takes time to produce so when the shit hits the fan, it’s the creative department that gets a disproportionate share of the flak.

It’s time I got out. But how? I don’t know what sort of agency my book will get me into. Creative houses are so competitive that they unnerve me. But is there really any other place I wanna be? Maybe a small creative-led agency but I had my chance and blew it, though it wasn’t entirely my fault. Still, it nags at me every once in awhile. When my next chance will come, I don’t know. But I hope it’s soon or I may have already left the industry altogether.