I am done after this. Six years, four platforms, every model there is, two meetings that came to nothing and a very large number of conversations that went quiet somewhere around the third week. This advert is the last thing I am going to write about it, and then I am deleting everything and getting on with a perfectly good life that has this missing from it.
Thirty nine, east London. I am not making a threat and there is nobody to blame. I have been at this long enough to see the pattern, and the pattern is that I am much better at the written stage than at the part where an actual person is sitting in front of me.
What I would want, if it happened, is not complicated. Somebody patient. Something ongoing rather than an evening. A direction I could settle into, which I think is submitting, based on very little evidence. I would like to be told what to do about ordinary things by somebody who genuinely cares whether they get done.
If you are also on the last stretch of your own patience with all this, that is probably the most compatible thing you could tell me.
Not looking for encouragement. Not looking for anybody who wants to fix my confidence as a project. And not looking to be talked into another six years of this, because I have thought about it carefully and I have decided.