A Joke at My Expense

Blurb: A short story that exploits my current situation and transforms me into a caricature.


I want to moan, I want to whine and I want to vent. That’s all I want to do.

I have this horrible insatiable craving to wallow in self-pity.

I don’t have a job, and I all I can do about it, is complain. Conversations are on repeat with me, I have nothing new to say, mostly because, I haven’t anything new to talk about. I can’t do anything. I have no money.

Oh woe is me, I can’t do a thing.

All discussions with my friends drift back to the shame topic.

‘Oh Loser, pity you couldn’t join us… it was amazing!’

As all ‘it’s are.

‘I know, but I don’t have any money I’m afraid.’

‘So, how is the job hunt going?’

If it was going well, need I brag about how little money I have and how little society I see?

Why yes it is splendid, I am hunting all the time, shooting out CV’s and covering letter’s as if a whole flock of pheasants had burst forth from a single bush.

‘How impressive.’

Yes, I’m the best hunter and shooter in the world… I’m just not the best catcher.

‘You’ll get one soon, I’m sure of it.’

And so they have said, for the last three years.

Soon has a strange ability to span over decades, tricky devil; soon.

Such luxury. Such leisure these last three years have been, what with that delightful affair at Sainsbury’s that lasted two of those splendiferous years.

I ended up with Raynaud’s Disease thanks to that place. I had several freak collisions with their large metal rollers which resulted in my poor middle finger being rather badly squashed, several times I repeat.

Not sure how they knew to target the same finger, but they did, aaaaand now it goes ghostly white whenever it’s a bit chilly.

Cheers Sainsbury’s.

That’s my lasting impression from you.

And then I got this Internship, which has tallied over the past year. I spend my days reading and editing over three hundred stories a week.

Without pay.

Oh the joys of unpaid labour. You can’t tell me reading stories with my slippers on and a hot cup of tea isn’t gruelling work.

Oh wait it isn’t.

But the endless reading and editing and commenting is, especially when you’re not getting paid.

Honestly it is.

My eyes have gone completely square; they see only a muddle of pixels and words now. I have daily headaches and sore eyes, all because I’ve had to stare at a computer screen for far too long.

I leave my desk blindly wide eyed and zombified.

Like an owl forced to fly in an unnatural day.

‘So what are you looking for now? What are you going to aim for?’

The echoing questions chime in my ears. Each conversation is just a recording to me know, they all go the same way and I certainly don’t stray from the script. I read off my dialogue diligently and with the same enthusiasm as the scene before.

‘Anything Dear Sir or Madam. Anything but retail.’


I’m holding out for something that won’t turn me into a mindless drone. I actually enjoy using my brain.

So the job hunt goes on and I have no one to blame but myself, my pride and, of course, all those idiots who have chosen to not hire me.

I’m great.

It’s just hard turning ‘I’m great’ into a whole covering letter.


My cravings have been getting worse lately.

My pity pot keeps getting deeper every time I return to it and with each visit it’s getting harder for me to crawl back out.

The sides are becoming smooth underneath my frequent footing. I’m making it slippy with my tears and snot. With each hulk like punch to the floor I drive myself closer to the earth’s core.

Even though the release is only ever momentarily cathartic.


‘She whines all the time.’

‘God I know, it’s getting so annoying.’

‘All she ever bleats on about is her job hunt.’

‘She’s such an ear sore, every time I see her now I feel like I’m her bloody therapist. I have problems too, you know? It’s as if mine aren’t equal to hers!’

‘So condescending and it’s her own fault she’s unemployed. Goes around acting as if she’s a bloody victim, so pathetic, I’m like, please… just get a job like the rest of us.’

‘Miss high and mighty.’

‘Miss oh woe is me.’

‘So bored of her.’

‘So bored.’

‘Doubt she’s even really trying.’


I sigh as I watch another mascara-laden tear slide down my face.

‘Well I really needed to hear that.’

I look away from the mirror and go downstairs.


A Confession at 17:21

My writing has always been a rather haphazard and unstructured affair; and this blog is proving to be no different. The main reason I started it was to motivate myself into writing something regularly. So subject matters may overlap. I may be making pointless posts or indulging in my own egotistical opinions but at least I am typing. I am typing whatever pops into my head so of course it won’t be exceptionally coherent nor pieces of extraordinary literature – it simply reflects what I am pondering at that very instant (and I ponder many things).

So anyway I decided I had better explain myself.

And I also wanted to explain why I have named myself ‘Alexandra Neon’. I think I managed to skirt around that topic a bit too easily in my first post. It was a carefully thought decision and I’d like to share the process of how this name came together.



I have always wanted to be called Alexandra.

Firstly; it was one of those names that sounded awfully au courant and primordial to me. I was insanely jealous of a friend of mine who had this name and it made me despise my own for a long time. I have, however, come to love the name I was given and I now look at this name with a waning sense of nostalgic envy. So it seemed only fitting to give my alter-ego the name I had wanted for so long.

Secondly; our family had to move about a lot when I was younger, following my Dad’s job wherever it had to take him and at one point I had moved to three different schools within three years. Not only were we following my Dad but something was following me too… and that was Egypt. Yes Egypt. Let me explain, you see at each of these three schools there would always be a big history project and each time I moved they’d always be studying the ancient world and, specifically in my case, it was ancient Egypt. I loved it. I found their Gods and Goddesses memorising and I enjoyed being the one in the class who knew the most about them. Alexandra, to me, resembled this ancient world and I was positive for a long time that I was a reincarnated Pharaoh and that my name had been ‘Alexandra’.

That would’ve been so cool… no?

Well… In my mind it was.


Now this one doesn’t hold much explanation it just popped up and seemed the brightest idea at the time.

Brightest… get it?

I find neon to be an interesting word and not only does it sound playful its colours and forms can be equally lively. I find these pliable tubes of electrifying colours beautiful and arresting, I imagine myself holding them, bending them into shapes and words and then running with them so that a stream of light follows me wherever I go.


These luminescent bulbs can burst with personality. They can at times look trampy and tacky; these are usually the ones you find flickering in broken down shop windows and shady back alleys of the red light district. They can look artistically ostentatious in a gallery which only the avant-garde can see and can give humour to a place which otherwise finds such qualities to be lacking.

They, much like humans, can be individual and that is what I admire about them. I see my personality as these lights and imagine the colours and shapes dancing around with vibrant abandon.

They also last much longer than glow sticks…

So why not choose a word that encompasses so much variety and animation? Why not by jingo? So there it is. That is how my alternative name came to be. Nothing fancy – just built from the foundations of a sinful nature and from a childlike fascination with things that glow.

A Confession at 13:50


I had planned on doing what people usually do when they create a blog; to say hi in an excited manor, to begin with a brief description as to why I had decided to start this blog and to apologise in advance if it descends into ramblings of nothing in particular, but, instead I am going to begin with a confession.

My Name is not Alexandra Neon. I am beginning my writing career in the most cowardly way possible – under a pseudonym. I believe my identity is rather precious and in a world where there are trolls who plunder the internet and where faceless people who steal identities run rampant I find it instinctive to protect my ‘self’.

So yes I am a cowardly writer, I am going to hide behind my alter ego and spout my opinions and musings without fear of reproach. I am not out to hurt or insult anyone just to give (hopefully) a comical viewpoint on things I do not understand. Personally I would love to have people help me understand the things I am ignorant of – I am afterall just an ordinary person with just as many misinformed ideas as the next. So if injury or insult is caused from my ramblings please let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

So yes anyway, for now I am Alexandra Neon; a girl with a block fringe and a slightly bent nose who just wants to see how this writing malarky goes in the real world with an actual audience. With a tentative finger I shall now press the finish button.