Living is killing me.

A guest blog by Jan Nieupjur.

I think this might be ironic:

I was in the pub this evening along with the usual bar flies when I was approached by a stranger. A stranger with a beligerent glint in his eye.

He said: 'What do you do for a living'?

And I said that I guess you could say I die for a living and he said what do you mean and I said: 'I assume by 'living' you mean income and the only income I get is in the form of sickness benefits and I get the sickness benefits because I am dying and if I weren't dying I wouldn't get benefits so yes I'm earning a living from dying.

Oh. He said.

The prospects are not good I said. No chance of promotion and no woman is going to take a chance with a man without prospects certain to die on the job.

He said; 'You could write Country & Western songs about it, earn big bucks, buy some fancy clothes and a Porsche, get a girl no problem and your job wouldn't be killing you anymore. You never know, you might only be dying in order to earn a living.

You know I stopped and thought about that for a moment or two.

You mean living is killing me I said.

He said: ; There we go, your first song title'.