You fell out of the habit of blogging with regularity. There’s a reason–honest!
Ever since you started working on the Old Mould Garden Website, you’ve been chained to a computer. Making a wordpress blog is one thing… trying to figure out how to update to wordpress.org (which you decided against, in the end), maximizing SEO, posting ads on Google Local, signing up for a Google Adwords campaign, buying and mapping domains… oh, and reading a bootlegged copy of WordPress For Dummies. Let’s just say you have pushed your technical abilities to the limit for now.
But it’s not over. Just when you’d decided you’d had enough of the computer… well, you end up researching and writing articles for Marlene, from Stevia: A Victim of Industry Pressure (which you promptly appropriated), to Why Are We Shitting In Our Water, to On Scientific Reductionism and my response to the European Ban On Herbal Medicines.
Actually, that’s not so bad. But then what really happened is Manon was offered a job to translate a 4,000 document. By translate, you actually mean paraphrase, which seemed a much more daunting prospect for this native French speaker. Turns out some woman plagiarized 10 pages of material from the Internet, wanted someone to paraphrase it all, and then hand over the copy rights. The gig paid 150 Euro.
You told her to go for it. And you offered to help. A mistake?
The next three nights were sucked into oblivion. Your eyes, already tired from 6-8 hours of computer use, were blurry. You endeavored to paraphrase some extremely uninspiring material: lists of symptoms. The article was about therapeutic use of essential oils. Interesting material, but totally uninspiring.
But you made it. Manon gave you half the commission. Totally a team effort, and the lady was so damn impressed that it looks like Manon will get more work in the future… but not before she demands more money for that torture.
So yeah, by the time you were all done with the computer, you didn’t want to have anything to do with it. But then you did some more. Joined Wwoof France, in search of another place to go. Guess you got tired of listening to all these bi/tri-lingual European pricks… jealous, actually, because your languages are slipping far from reach, and only seem accessible when you’re wasted.
You you found a farm in the south of France, in the Pyrenees, near the Toilet Of France. It’s a holistic healing and wellness center with expertise in raw foodism. Fun! No… serious. Awesome. You’re scheduled to fly to Carcassonne on the 29th of November, will camp and hitch hike your way down there and work for three weeks.
Then what? Chances are, you will fly back to Ireland. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll some nerve and go back into Spain. Give those Spanish macho guys another shot. Practice your infantile Espanol. Who knows?
So at long last, you’re updating your readers about the work you’ve been doing. New projects include… well, how to say… you’ve been nominated to, err, generate ideas for the Old Mould Company. Basically, you were offered a taste of Big Dan’s dream job: “Someone should pay me to go into their business, look around, and tell them all the shit they’re doing wrong.” ie, a business consultant.
Maybe you won’t take it that far, but after all the work you’ve done putting the Garden line on the web, advertising and promoting it… now you’re starting to market the products. Fun stuff. You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, but it seems to be going well so far.
Next step. Do the same thing. All over again. For the Old Mould main web page.
Oh, did you mention that you got a nasty case of food poisoning?! Maybe a bad egg… but for three days your stomach was in bits and your insides turned to liquid. Fever, chills, aching joints, and… well, you had to clean the toilet twice one night.
Now all you deal with it reflux. Fucking old age…